Antonio Pretends He Didn't Break a Rib
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: [[ SpaMano oneshots ]] Antonio regretted his life choices as he slammed into the ground. "And that, children, is how not to keep your guard up. What do you think, white-belt? Should we try again?" Every fiber in Antonio's body screamed no. However, that smirk Lovino had on his face spread to Antonio's own. The white-belt stood, knees popping, and shook out his arms.
1. Broken Ribs

**Note: These were originally posted in the FF . net story "Flying Pieces of Paper." They have been moved to this new story in an organizational attempt.**

 **SpaMano oneshots.**

* * *

Antonio regretted his life choices as he slammed into the ground.

"And _that_ , children, is how _not_ to keep your guard up."

There was scattered applause from the seated kids, and a few calls for Sensei to _do it again_. Antonio sucked in his breath, sitting up and rolling his shoulder. Sensei Lovino bowed toward Antonio, looking amused.

"What do you think, white-belt? Should we try again?"

Every fiber in Antonio's body screamed _no_. However, that smirk Lovino had on his face spread to Antonio's own. The white-belt stood, knees popping, and shook out his arms.

It had all started with Gilbert. It usually started with Gilbert. This time, it was after he had gotten his ass handed to him during bar fight. It was only Gilbert, mind; Francis and Antonio had held their own. Still, next Tuesday, the three of them were standing outside of "Dragon Dojo."

The instructor, who was very much Italian, explained to Gilbert five times, each time slower than the last, that Dragon Dojo only taught children under thirteen. Finally, the three of them were given outfits and shoved towards the mats in the back.

Sensei Lovino proceeded to beat the living shit out of the three of them.

Francis quit after that, explaining he already was attacked daily by Arthur. Gilbert stuck it out a little longer, for nearly a month.

"Come on, _block_!" Lovino shouted, kneeing Gilbert in the stomach. "You're as open as a fucking prairie, _guard_!" A kick, this time. "Did you see how my weight shifted—Jesus Christ, get _off_ the ground!"

"Antonio," Gilbert wheezed, weakly waving an arm, "Tag me out, tag me out!"

Antonio groaned, eyes flicking between Gilbert and Lovino. He laughed, holding his side. A rib was probably broken. "No, thank you."

Lovino cracked his knuckles, eyeing Antonio. "Come on, white-belt, get off your ass. You paid good money for this, might as well." A minute. "Well, one of you get off of your big, _fat_ asses or you'll be kicked out of here for good! Come on—"

"Calm down," Antonio muttered, standing. "I'll—"

And then Lovino tackled him. Antonio tried his best, he really did, but he ended up in the exact same position as Gilbert. Lovino stood over them, arms crossed, eyes furious.

"You two are fucking useless."

Gilbert would have slammed the door if his arm wasn't probably broken. "Fucking stuck up bitch," Gilbert growled.

"It's like a foot got stuck up his ass," Antonio agreed, opening the car door with a vengeance.

Surprising silence, and then, "Oh, fuck,"

Gilbert looked over Antonio's shoulder. Lovino stood in the dojo's doorway, holding Antonio's forgotten coat.

Antonio hadn't seen anything other than anger Lovino's face the past few weeks. The look the teacher had now, half out the door, hands clenched into fists, made Antonio's stomach turn. Lovino looked between his two students, teeth clenched, eyes glistening.

"You don't have to fucking come, you know," Lovino said, voice surprisingly steady. "I teach kids, not asshole adults. Maybe if you could get that through your thick-as-fuck skulls, you wouldn't have to deal with _me_ —" His voice cracked.

Gilbert laughed, because he laughed when he was nervous, because he probably thought it was _funny_ on some level, because, deep down, they both _were_ assholes. God, how many years ago was it that Antonio vowed never to be a bully again?

"Lovino, we—"

The instructor tossed Antonio's coat to him, moving back into the gloom of the dojo. "Save it."

The passenger side door slammed shut, and Antonio marched away from the car, running a hand over his face. He mumbled in Spanish to himself, shaking his head. Gilbert let out an annoyed sigh.

"Dude, it's _fine_ , the guy needed a dose of his own medicine."

Antonio replayed the scenario over and over again in his head. It was true, Lovino had been unnecessarily harsh towards the two of them. On the other hand, they had forced their way into the studio. Still, Lovino could have attempted _some_ instruction, instead of just beating them up and explaining what _not_ to do.

Conflicted, Antonio returned on Wednesday, spying on Lovino through the dojo door. What a difference _kids_ made. Instead of attacking them, Lovino patiently explained to them how to block, how to kick, how to _chop a piece of wood in half, woah_. And when one of the kids became frustrated, Lovino crouched down to his level and freaking talked the kid down!

That calm disappeared when Lovino caught sight of Antonio. The instructor stood crossed his arms, shaking his head.

"I swear to _God_ , get _out_ of here—"

Antonio was half ready to bolt, but he knew last night would eat away at him until…

"I'm sorry."

Lovino stared, teeth gritting. " _Get_ —"

The whole class was watching Lovino and Antonio.

"He didn't even get you flowers!"

Lovino looked down, confusion mixing in with the anger. "Peter, not now."

Peter frowned at Antonio. "Whenever my dad gets angry at my dad, he buys him flowers and a big box of chocolates to apologize. I dunno' what this guy is doing, Sensei, but I bet you'd forgive him a lot faster if he got you some chocolate."

"I can get flowers," Antonio offered.

"Oh, my God—"

Peter grinned. "Can we see you and your boyfriend _fight_?!"

"What? No, Peter, Antonio is… Actually," Lovino turned to Antonio, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "That's a great idea. You really want to apologize?"

No, Antonio realized as he nodded, not like this. Still, even as the kids cheered and Lovino let out satisfied little grunts whenever he kneed Antonio, he felt much better. Enormously so. Antonio iced his bruises and watched Lovino finish the lesson, admiring how gentle Lovino could be.

Lovino dismissed the class, bowing. He eyed Antonio as he stood.

"You still coming to your lesson tomorrow?"

Antonio still got his assed handed to him, still beat up in front of a much of ten-year-olds, still called insane by Gilbert and Francis for continuing the karate lessons. But, hey, Antonio could sort-of kind-of fight against Lovino.

"You still don't know how to block," Lovino commented, panting. "Same time Thursday?"


	2. Movies

Antonio thought he was a pretty tolerant person. He worked with kids, after all. He prided himself of being calm and not stressing over things. But, honestly, he just wanted to watch this movie in peace.

Kick.

Antonio closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. It wasn't even a _good_ jump scare. He opened them again, trying to immerse himself back into the movie.

Kelly slowly moved her way through the abandoned hospital. Suddenly—

Another kick.

Antonio turned around in his seat, frowning at the person behind him.

"Stop looking at me, you creep."

Antonio turned back around. The person hadn't seen his frown. Someone was sitting to his left and right, so he couldn't move seats. And it would be very rude—

Kick.

—to try and find another seat in the middle of the movie. Antonio had an internal struggle. He turned around once again.

"Eh, sorry, but you keep kicking my seat."

"I'm _trying_ to watch the movie."

Antonio faced the movie screen. He let out an angry breath. Kelly was hiding in a supply closet now, trying not to scream. A hand—

Kick.

He heard the person behind him get up, walking quickly down his mostly empty isle of seats. Antonio hopped up as well, following. At least now he could confront the person.

Antonio emerged into the bright lobby, squinting.

The man who had been behind him was heading toward the bathroom. Antonio followed him, reaching out to touch his elbow. The man whirled around, eyes wide.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you behind me, fuck," He held a hand to his heart.

Antonio, despite himself, chuckled. "Sorry! I'm sitting in front of you, and you keep kicking my seat! It's annoying, so if you could stop…" This man was pretty cute. Short but thin, flushed face, hazel eyes. Young. Antonio scratched the back of his head, putting on his winning smile. "Heh, sorry, I'm Antonio." He held out his hand.

The man looked at the hand, looking like he was half ready to bolt. He shook Antonio's hand. "Lovino. There's an empty seat next to mine, if my kicking is _bothering_ you so much."

"Lovino," Antonio repeated.

"You can let go of my hand," Lovino said, raising his chin a little higher.

"Sorry!" Antonio released Lovino's hand.

Lovino turned and walked toward the bathroom. Antonio would be lying if he said he didn't let his eyes slide up and down the retreating figure.


	3. Family Reunion

Lovino slumped in lawn chair. God, he hated these things. His family was behind him, yelling in Italian and English and a garbled version of both. Here he was, stuck drinking soda. At least Feliciano could have fun talking to the adults; he always enjoyed bringing his sketchbook to these things and showing everyone his latest works.

Lovino, meanwhile, usually ended up somewhere alone, in the dark, and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. It was all his Grandpa's old, creepy friends who came to these things. Them and his cousins, all of whom could drink. At this particular summer event, Lovino was stuck sitting by the fire. Lovino slumped lower, knees coming perilously close to the flames.

Lovino took a last swig of his soda can before throwing it in the fire. Had anyone actually been sitting with him, they might have scolded him about toxins aluminum released when it was burned. As it was, Lovino was left only with the sound crackling logs.

"Another beer?"

Lovino snorted. Like anyone else at this party needed something to drink.

"Ah… Another beer?"

Lovino's head jerked up. There was a man standing next to him. Lovino had no idea who this person was—he usually didn't. He hugged the relatives who he was introduced to, then went off to sulk.

"Me?"

Lovino could see the stranger's white teeth gleam in the firelight. When had it gotten so damn dark? How long had Lovino been sitting there, staring into the fire?

"Yes. Would you like another one?"

Lovino looked around and sat up. "Fuck it, sure. Why not?"

The man laughed. "Be right back."

Lovino watched him walk away. His eyes were still all fucked up from looking into the fire, so he still couldn't tell who this man was. He wondered if he was related to this man—that was another issue with these things, how the hell was he supposed to tell who he could flirt with? That sexy girl over there, she's your second cousin, Lovino, but of course I didn't tell you until you gave her your phone number.

"Here you go, I grabbed the first one I saw in the cooler." The man returned, handing Lovino a can.

Was this really happening? Lovino found he didn't care, and cracked the beer open. It tasted like absolute piss, but he thanked his lucky stars he wouldn't have to go through the rest of this night fully sober. Lovino glanced over to the man, who had sat down in the chair next to Lovino.

"Who're you?" Lovino asked, squinting and trying to see the man's face.

"Antonio Fernández-Carriedo. I came here with Francis."

Lovino sucked in air through his teeth. He knew it was too good to be true. Francis was one of those cousins who no one was really sure how he related to the family. He bore the general resemblance of the Aunts on one side, but he spoke French like the Uncles on another side. He showed up for all the family gatherings, always toting a new girl (or guy) on his arm.

"Ah, you came here with Francis," Lovino repeated, taking another sip of beer—Lovino was half sure Antonio had pissed in the can.

Antonio laughed, and Lovino was surprised how real it sounded. It didn't sound like the usual flirtatious, obnoxious laugh. "Oh, no, not with him. He wanted some company and someone to drink with, so here I am." Antonio took a sip. "Mm, but you're Lovino, right?"

Lovino made a face. "It's not creepy at all that you know my name."

Antonio laughed, waving one hand like he was trying to dispel Lovino's doubts. "Francis pointed you out earlier. You and your brother…"

"Feliciano," Lovino grumbled, leaning back in his chair. "The boy who is handsome, clever, and an excellent artist."

]"What does that make you?" Antonio asked, standing up and searching his pockets for something.

Lovino watched him, annoyed the bastard couldn't sit down for five seconds and have a normal conversation. It's like he couldn't stay still. "It makes me the boy who sits by himself and gets offered drinks because he's fucking awesome. What the hell are you even looking for?"

Antonio pulled a box out of his back pocket. "There it is!" He flipped the box open, pulling out a cigarette. "Want one?" He offered the box.

Lovino had never been offered a cigarette before. Cigarettes were too valuable at school, a rare commodity that was too cool to offer or share with anyone else. You offered weed, or a sip from a nip, not a cigarette.

Lovino stared at the box. Should he take one? He looked around once again. The adults were still by the tent, talking and drinking. A couple people were laying out on blankets they had brought, while a group of cousins had gathered in a circle and were singing along with the guitar someone had brought.

"Yeah, thanks," Lovino took one, realizing he didn't have a light as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth.

He felt like an idiot until Antonio saved the day, pulling out a lighter. He gestured for Lovino to come closer, and clicked the lighter on when the ends of their sticks met. Lovino saw a flash of green eyes and then his cigarette was lit.

Lovino breathed in the smoke. Now, Lovino didn't smoke, but he knew how not to be a total ass when he did. The first time he had smoked a joint, he had ended up coughing and retching; he had been mortified. After countless hours of practice—spread across his first two years of school—Lovino had mastered the art of smoking.

Antonio smiled when he caught Lovino's eye. Lovino looked away, back toward the fire. "Why aren't you hanging out with Francis if you came with him?"

He could feel Antonio's eyes still on him. "Well, Francis is… Busy. Let's just say, he and I took different cars here. Are you sure he's really your cousin?"

Lovino felt an unwanted smile flick across his face. "Honestly, I don't think he is." Lovino took a sip of beer, looking at Antonio out of the corner of his eye. "Where are you from? Your accent…"

"Spain," Antonio answered. "No particular part. My family moved around a lot. I lived by Portugal for a while, then in Madrid, then down by Morocco, right by the Strait of Gibraltar. I went to University near France, which is where I met your lovely cousin." Antonio blew a smoke ring, which impressed Lovino to a degree that he would never admit to himself. "You?"

Lovino slumped in his chair, flicking his cigarette into the fire. "Just… Here."

"Here is nice, Lovino."

The younger boy snorted. "Sure. What are you doing over here, anyways, Mr. Spain? I would think you would continue your backpacking through your home country before you visit the ass end of the world that is America."

Antonio laughed, flicking his own cigarette into the fire. "I enjoy meeting new people. It feels like I've met everyone over in Spain, so I traveled with Francis to the States."

Lovino grunted. "If I were you, I'd get back on that boat and find some new people over in Europe." Lovino glanced over at Antonio to find him staring at him. A smirk was playing across his face, and he was leaning awfully close. Lovino felt his palms start to sweat.

"What do you do, Lovino?"

"School," Lovino mumbled, taking a calming sip of beer. "I work part time at a restaurant. Why?"

Antonio shrugged, somehow leaning closer. He smelled like sweet alcohol and cigarettes and something unidentifiable that made Lovino want to squirm in his seat. "Well, if you want to leave so badly, why don't you? You could save up. Leave…" He grinned, and underneath the friendly surface, there was something exciting and dangerous. "I could show you the sights."

Lovino's stomach was rolling. He took another sip of beer, but he was feeling lightheaded. "Once again, not creepy at all."

And then, Antonio was light again. He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes! I forget myself, when I drink. You're welcome to slap me if I come on too strong."

"I'm sixteen."

The smile froze on Antonio's face. "You're kidding."

Lovino glared at the fire, feeling flushed, sweaty, and utterly foolish. He shouldn't have said anything, God damn. "Seventeen next month. Sorry for being fucking jailbait. You're welcome to slap me," Lovino spat, not meeting Antonio's eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, because Francis pointed you out, I assumed that he… Argh, I'm going to kill that…" Antonio trailed off into Spanish swearing, shaking his head and throwing his can into the fire. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. You're cute—" Lovino winced, "—but I'm twenty-four, and the age of consent here is, what, eighteen?"

"Fuck off, leave me alone," Lovino snapped, scooting down in his chair. God, he was such a fucking idiot sometimes. Curse him and his giant mouth—he and Feliciano were similar in that regard, unfortunately. "I hate these fucking stupid ass stupid parties."

Antonio stood, patting his pockets nervously. "Eh, eh, you're cute when you curse."

Lovino gave Antonio as close to a growl as humanly possible. "Suck my dick."

"I would," Antonio sounded distressed, "but you have to give me a year!"

This thought made Lovino very angry and very… Well… "Oh, get out of here before you make me punch you."

 **…**

Lovino found himself sprawled on a couch, gazing up at the ceiling. This time, Lovino found himself inside a small, cozy house. The music that was blaring outside made Lovino want to shove his fingers in his ears like a child. Feliciano was somewhere outside, offering to paint children's faces, and Lovino was inside, glaring up at the ceiling.

Soda cans surrounded the couch, as well as a bag of chips Lovino had stolen. His Grandfather had taken away his phone, so now all there was left to do was sulk. And sulk Lovino did. Still, no one his age besides his daft brother. Still, Lovino couldn't drink. If Lovino had to imagine a hell, this would be it.

"Want a cigarette?"

Lovino jerked up, whipping around. He gaped, staring at Antonio. The fucker had shown up. That asshole from a year ago had tagged along with Francis again, and was sitting sprawled in the loveseat, looking ever so content with himself. This was the first time Lovino had seen the man in bright lighting—why in good God's name had this man come back for him?

Antonio smiled, offering a cigarette.


	4. Supply Closets

They were in a supplies closet. Lovino's eyes roamed around the place as Antonio kissed his neck; the tongue depressors, the gauze, the syringes. Distantly, he knew that this was probably unsanitary, but Antonio's breath on his skin chased this thought away.

It was Lovino who fumbled at the belt buckle—he wasn't sure whose–and Antonio's hand jumped to assist him. The idiot caused more confusion than help.

"Oh, God damn it, just let me do it," Lovino snapped, voice quiet.

Antonio laughed, the noise filling the soft space. Lovino slapped his back, pulling away slightly.

"Hey, assfuck, someone's going to hear us. No noise," Lovino hissed, battling away Antonio's belt. "Just fucking—stop laughing!"

Antonio bit his lip, slipping his hand down Lovino's pants. Lovino almost wanted to push him away—hookups with people he actually _liked_ were a rare thing—so instead he slid his own hands into the man's pants.

"You first."

Lovino could feel the smile against his neck, but Antonio's hands retreated. Oh, God, what was Lovino even doing? He was a fucking doctor, for Pete's sake. He shouldn't be jerking off the husband of a cancer patient. This was so…

"Lovino—"

"Don't moan!"

But Lovino didn't care at this point. It was intoxicating, this man pressed up against him, voice ragged. Handjobs weren't even that exciting, usually. But maybe it was the magic of the supplies closet, of getting caught.

"When is her chemo over?"

Lovino recoiled, face pulling into a sneer. "What, so you can go crawling back to her? You're a fucking bastard, you know that?" His heart still felt like it was in his throat. "This is so…"

Lovino hooked his hand around Antonio's boxers, pulling him back. Antonio laughed again, and the noise was too light for the dark supplies closet. It was wrong. Another slap to the back, Lovino's lips too busy on Antonio's.

Suddenly, there was light. Lovino shoved Antonio away, retreating further into the closet. Antonio stumbled, pants still around his knees. Should have locked the door, should have—Lovino ran a hand over his face.

"I—oh, I…" Still had a fucking smirk on his face, through all of his apologies.

"Jones, get the _fuck_ out of here!"


	5. Mosquitoes

That fucker was taking too long. Lovino casually looked around the corner of the alley way, running a hand over his face. The guy was screaming—someone was bound to hear. Someone had probably already heard.

"Could I bother you to hurry the fuck up?" Lovino called over his shoulder, stress making his voice harsher than he had intended. He turned away, tapping his gun.

"You could help, if you want to be gone quicker, Lovino," Antonio replied, smile making his words light.

"Look, I know this is how you get your power trip, but I would like to get back in time for Feliciano's—that thing. You know, you replied to the invitation." God, his voice echoed off the brick—it sounded too high.

They were always sent to the worst parts of town for these sorts of things. A body could lay hidden for a couple of days without anyone thinking to give it a poke. This had been Antonio's playground when he was younger.

Lovino still remembered when he had met the other man. He had been handed a gun and he was terrified out of his wits. He nearly pissed himself when he had caught sight of Antonio for the first time: grin a little too wide, too eager, all explanations and busting kneecaps.

Really, Antonio wasn't so bad.

The scream shut off, and suddenly the street seemed quiet. Lovino could hear the crickets hidden in the crabgrass by the road. It was almost peaceful, the streetlamps casting a comforting orange glow on the asphalt.

Lovino looked over his shoulder again, but looked away when he saw Antonio's movements; he had never been one for gore. That was something he and his brother had in common. While Lovino usually grinned and bore it, Feliciano was much more vocal—

Antonio swore.

Lovino's head turned sharply. "What? I swear to God, if someone's looking from those fucking windows, I'm going to kill you. I've been telling you we should dump in the—"

Antonio neared, laughing. "No, calm down, Lovino!" He hadn't gotten any blood on him. That was something Antonio was careful about. "I think we're late for your brother's thing. I… What time is it?"

Lovino glanced down at his watch. He didn't wear the Rolex when they went out working, even though he could count the number of times he had gotten his hands dirty on a few fingers. It took him a second in the dark.

"Eight-thirty, or close enough. Why, what time does this stupid thing start?" There was a faint moan, and Lovino leaned back on his heels to try and catch sight of the man further back in the alley. "Is he going to be okay? He better fucking not be."

Antonio laughed, and for whatever annoying reason, it sounded good as it echoed off of the bricks. "I think the thing starts at six. Or five." His smile dimmed slightly. "I don't really remember. I thought I did. It's gone."

Lovino felt his heart do a funny flip. "Oh, _fuck_!" he exclaimed, stumbling back onto the sidewalk. "Fuck. Feliciano's going to be flipping shit. Argh," Lovino searched his pockets for his phone, scowling when Antonio handed it to him. "This is your fault."

They walked down the street, and anyone who was coming their way quickly stepped out of their way. Lovino had almost forgotten what it was like being out in the town. That's why his grandfather had sent him out, presumably. To remind Lovino.

Lovino looked at Antonio. "What?"

Antonio smiled. "I _said_ : don't be grumpy. You used to have fun when we hung out together! We should play a game." He looked around. "I spy something red."

"'Hung out?'" Lovino laughed, shaking his head. "Okay. Sure, that's what we're doing. Fuck, where did I park?"

A woman screamed, something high and real and panicked. Lovino turned to look, expecting a mugger, but instead seeing something—someone shiny and red, leaning against a lamppost. A jogger had stopped and was attempting to dial her phone.

Lovino could hear the man's gasps for air from here.

"Fuck."

Antonio started back, stride long and purposeful, but Lovino grabbed his arm. "Antonio— _Antonio_ , we have to leave. He can identify you, and I don't feel up for having to run down after that woman. Antonio, fuck, _come on_!" Lovino tugged on Antonio's arm, just wanting to go to Feliciano's warm, happy house and forget about the night.

Antonio looked at him, and for a moment, Lovino was scared. There was something in the other man, something that he tried to hide sometimes, but it was looking Lovino in the face. It was something that wanted to make sure that whoever he killed stayed dead.

But then he smiled, and whatever grasp on Antonio's emotions Lovino had slipped away from him.


	6. Lovino Needed to Think

Lovino stared at the ceiling, praying that what he was hearing wasn't what he was _actually_ hearing. The other possibilities flashed through his head; the cat, the other cat, maybe Grandpa was playing the drums, maybe the house was settling.

"Oh my god," Lovino breathed.

Maybe one of the water pipes was banging rhythmically against the wall. Maybe, _maybe_ , it _wasn't_ Feliciano's bed bumping against the wall. Maybe the cat had learned how to speak, and she was the person moaning Feliciano's name.

"Oh my _god_ ," Lovino said, angrier, yet softer.

What were they thinking? It didn't even matter what they were thinking, why would they put _him_ through this? Feliciano knew Lovino took forever to fall asleep. And yet, if the thin, thin walls had anything to say about it, Lovino's brother was certainly going at it.

Dear god, Lovino could hear _everything_. The way Ludwig said Feliciano's name, the soft words they said to one another, Feliciano's soft giggles and—

"Holy fucking shit," Lovino groaned.

Oh, they heard _that_. The noises from next door stopped, replaced by rapid whispering. Lovino grimaced.

"Lovino?"

"Feliciano… _Ludwig_."

"Um, are you still awake?"

"No, Feliciano, I'm fucking sleep-talking."

"Oh, uh…"

"I see you've moved your bed to the other wall. Hear. I hear you've moved your bed."

The fucker was _giggling_. "I'm really, really sorry, Lovino. Don't tell Grandpa. We can move the bed back."

"That would be fucking peachy-keen."

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Lovino—"

"I swear to god, Feliciano, you have _one minute_."

Lovino needed to think.

Grandpa left next Friday for a convention with his old war buddies, leaving the house to Lovino and Feliciano. Ludwig, of course, was over, watching a movie with Feliciano. The two of them hardly looked up when Lovino led Antonio upstairs.

Antonio looked around Lovino's room, smiling. "Wow, I didn't think that your brother and Ludwig would be friends! Pretty strange, the two of them. So, anyways, the homework, I don't—"

"I want you to fuck me."

The grin remained on Antonio's face, if a little dumbly. "What?"

Lovino ripped off his shirt, ignoring the blush he felt appearing on his cheeks. "You heard me. I don't have all day. I don't know how long it'll be until Grandpa gets back."

Had Antonio been anything other than a teenaged boy, he might have reconsidered the suddenness of the proposition and the situation surrounding it. As it was, he hurriedly unbuttoned his own shirt, watching Lovino kick off his jeans and stand by the bed.

This was not the first time this Antonio had asked for help on Calculus. This was not the first time Lovino had demanded sex. It _was_ the first time Lovino didn't cover his moans with his hand.

"Christ, Lovino," Antonio panted underneath him, that wild grin still on his face.

"Shut up. Oh, _god_!"

Fucking Ludwig. Lovino hadn't even _known_ he and Feliciano were… Whatever they were. Why the hell hadn't Feliciano told him? It wasn't the first time Feliciano had someone over, but it was the first guy. And it was Ludwig, the snobby, rich, buff kid.

"He didn't even _mention_ it."

"What?"

"Nothing, shut up."

How many dates had the two of them had? Did Feliciano use protection? Why the _fuck_ had Feliciano moved his bed by Lovino's wall? The whole thing was just baffling.

" _Fuck_. Hey, why the _fuck_ wouldn't you tell someone you were dating someone else?"

"We're dating?"

"What? No. My brother. Son of a bitch, stop trying to kiss me, stay down!"

"He has a girlfriend?"

"Jesus Christ, you're useless."


	7. Fuck Peanuts

A bright red Ferrari perched among the SUVs. No stickers or dents, certainly no room for a car seat, yet it still arrived every Saturday for the weekly PTO meetings. It received more than its fair share of envious stares and annoyed looks.

Jen never had much of a problem with a car. She knew that Lauren and Rachel muttered darkly to one another whenever they saw it, insurance premiums and the fate of the children swirling darkly. But Tom down the block had gotten a motorcycle.

It was probably because it belonged to Lovino.

"I can't pack my kid Goldfish for lunch?" Lovino stood, one hand on his hip, sneer on his face. "Why exactly are _you_ telling me what to feed my kid?"

Steve smiled, though it was faulty. "Because, Mr. Vargas, one of the children in the grade has a sever allergy—"

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "That's my fault? If I want to pack Goldfish, then I should be able to pack fucking Goldfish."

Jen frowned, and she heard Lauren and Rachel descend into a bout of disapproving whispers behind her. Lovino turned his head sharply before looking back at Steve. Jen wanted to sink through her chair into the floor.

"Don't even get me started on the peanuts."

Rachel's voice cut off immediately.

Unfortunately, Sarah was in Claudio's grade. Jen would stand awkwardly at pickup, trying desperately to ignore Lovino. After all, he had that car, and he wore those expensive suits, and he had such a _mouth_ but…

Jen watched sadly as Claudio walked out next to Sarah, holding hands.

One day, Jen finally built up the nerve to ask, "Sweetheart, are you friends with that boy Claudio?"

"Yes, and Claudio's gonna' ask his dad if we can have a playdate!" She grinned, eyes wide. So innocent.

Jen's heart sank.

The next day, Lovino walked up to her with a purpose. He had gone slightly more casual today, a button-up and pair of slacks, but they were both ironed vigorously, and his shoes were shiny. Jen, wearing a shirt that was too small for her growing stomach and sweats, smiled.

"Are you Sarah's mom?" Lovino asked when he reached her.

She _could_ lie.

Jen held out her hand. "Jennifer, but most people call me Jen. Claudio's dad, right?" As if the entire PTO board didn't know. "Sarah talks a lot about Claudio."

Lovino shook her hand with surprising warmth. "Lovino. Claudio's been bitching about having a playdate with Sarah for weeks. When would you be free?"

Jen put it off, until Sarah threw herself to the ground (a tactic no doubt learned from Claudio) and sobbed that Jen didn't want her to have friends. Left with no other option, at least according to Lauren and Rachel, Friday afternoon found Jen on the Vargas doorstep.

It was a fantastic house. Huge yard, three stories, the red Ferrari parked protectively in the driveway. Jen had even seen a pool in the back. She wondered if Lovino was rich, what he did, what his wife's job was.

Sarah rang the doorbell.

Inside, there was the sing-song of another language, a shout in another. Something fell, and it knocked against the door.

A man opened the door, a grin already across his face.

"Eh, sorry about that! I was upstairs, trying to find the food for the turtles, and Lovino wouldn't get the door. Neither would Claudio, because he's out back. Who are you?" He spoke with a lisp, and he seemed strikingly happy.

"Uh." Jen smiled back. "Jennifer, but people call me Jen. Sarah's mom." She pushed forward Sarah in explanation. "I… They have a playdate?"

It took a moment, but recognition eventually dawned in the man's eyes. "Sarah! Claudio's been very excited to see you…" He said something else, but Jen was too caught up in the accent to his words and the way his mouth moved.

Who the hell was this?

It took her a moment to realize he had asked a question.

"Sorry, what?"

The man laughed. Jen wasn't sure what was so funny, but she chuckled along as well.

"I asked if you would like to come in! You aren't allergic to cats, are you? Sarah, Claudio should be out back, right through there." The man showed her inside, yelling upstairs in what sounded like Spanish. He looked at her. "How far along are you?"

Jen rested a hand on her stomach. "Just a couple of months. You're the first person to realize I… Well, that I'm not getting fat, just pregnant." Jen hesitated, then broke. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The man let out another laugh. "I'm Antonio." He led her to a light and airy kitchen, all windows and counter-space. "We've been thinking about adopting another, as well."

"No, we haven't," Lovino growled, and Jen jumped. He had appeared out of a side room, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"Not even a little girl?" Antonio teased, watching Lovino walk through the kitchen. "A little princess? Someone to dress up in skirts?" Antonio winked at Jen. "He likes to pretend adopting was all my idea."

Lovino looked at Jen and then gave Antonio a glare. "It was. You literally brought the kid home and said 'surprise.'"

It clicked, and Jen let out a soft "oh" in understanding.

Jen seems to have been the only one out of the loop. Lauren and Rachel launched into a tirade.

"Can you believe it?" they said, "That someone as reckless as Lovino got such a nice husband? He's so cute, and nice, and that poor boy only has one good father instead of two!"

At the next meeting, Jen watched Lovino on his rant, and she imagined him laying in bed, Claudio wedged between him and Antonio, snarl replaced with a smile.

" _Fuck peanuts_! Fuck you, Rachel!"

It was certainly a strange image.


	8. Turtles Need Water

Spain worked. He didn't much like it. It was mainly long meetings, lots of paper work for the "National Emotions Assessment and Predictions," and boring days spent trapped inside on sunny days.

Even when Spain _wasn't_ inside, he was usually on a plane or driving through Europe. Boss called in "National Security and Relation Meetings," but Spain would usually just have lunch with someone and chat about whatever was on the news.

Spain liked his home, but he was never there. He also liked turtles, and he wanted a huge tank of them, with rocks and a little fountain.

"I wouldn't be home to feed it," Spain lamented to Italy during one of their meetings.

Italy, who was texting Norway and losing handily at 'Words with Friends,' grunted.

So, Spain improvised. He stood in his kitchen, hands on his hips, looking around. He needed something that would work well as a replacement for a pet. Something he liked as much as turtles, but that he could take with him.

His eyes fell on a tomato.

Spain laughed, shaking his head and turning away. No, that would be ridiculous.

Later that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Spain considered. The tomato haunted him as he went about his day at work, when Boss told him he would be heading to Italy. After all, it would be a funny joke.

Spain took the tomato and put it in the passenger seat.

For a while, they drove in silence, Spain occasionally looking over at the tomato. He was a nation. He had waged war and killed people and sailed on the seas, screaming in the middle of storms as he swung from sails.

Spain cleared his throat. "We're going to see Italy."

The tomato sat.

"I think we're going to see Veneziano first, but we're going to see Italy after that. Just to chat, but I don't think Italy will want to hang around with Vene today. Norway's been beating him."

Spain looked over. The tomato was a good person, he decided. An excellent pet and a wonderful listener.

Spain introduced the tomato to Veneziano, who had looked between the fruit and Spain before laughing and playing along. They talked over brunch, relaxing in Veneziano's garden and occasionally explaining something to the tomato.

"I think I like this tomato even more than I liked your bull!" Veneziano laughed and reached over to pat the tomato. "Have you shown him to Romano yet, because I bet he's going to love it, because he could do with a good listen!"

It was true. Spain loaded up the tomato and drove down to Rome, looking at the tomato and laughing to himself. The whole thing was ridiculous, but it didn't stop him from telling the tomato that they were almost at Italy's house.

Spain pulled up and grabbed the tomato.

There was a lot of dark mutters about interrupted siestas, but Italy seemed happy enough to see him. They went out back to the newly-installed pool and lounged, talking about work and the sky and the way radio static was almost relaxing if they were both too lazy to change the station.

Italy got up to get another bottle of wine, and it hit Spain like a ton of bricks that he had left the tomato on the kitchen counter. He watched with horror in his eyes as Italy reappeared, munching on the tomato and brandishing another bottle of wine triumphantly.

Italy frowned. "What?"

Spain floundered for words. " _You ate him_!" He jumped up, approaching Italy and staring at the tomato with nothing short of despair.

Italy, panicking, backed away. "What?!"

"I couldn't have turtles so I got a tomato!" Spain took the tomato from Italy gently, cradling it. "And you ate him!"

Italy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, having trouble deciding if Spain was being serious or not. Truth be told, Spain was having trouble deciding, himself. He looked down at the tomato and back up at Italy, at a loss for words.

"We need to have a funeral," Spain finally whispered.

Italy burst out laughing.

* * *

 **Posted by aph–spain or aphtomato** : Headcanon that Spain once had a pet tomato but Romano ate it :v


	9. Read: 10:24 am

Feliciano had said he would be here. No, he always said he would be here. That was Feliciano's problem: he was one of those guys who would assure you a thousand times he would be on time for something, and then wander in three hours late, dope-ass grin on his face.

It was a stupid restaurant. I didn't like it. Fucking cheesy, windows, high bar stools that let your legs hang down. They try to impress you with small, fancy cups filled with lukewarm coffee.

It was the kind of place Feliciano would want to meet, and that drove me fucking crazy. They even had a candle on the table. It was a coffee place. What was this candle doing?

I unlocked my phone, and Feliciano had read my message. He hadn't responded.

"Fuckin _asshole_ ," I hissed, sending another text. I had shit to do, I had people to kill, drugs to smuggle, people to ferry, and my dear, baby brother was probably getting gelato.

I can imagine the next scene. I'm going to be home, and this fucker is going to wander in like he always does, and I'm not going to forgive him this time. We're supposed to be talking about business, not the nice flower lady, or the interesting cloud, or how—

"Excuse me?" A waiter stood awkwardly to the side.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"I'm Antonio," the waiter said, sitting down at my table like a shit waiter. He wasn't getting a tip, that's for fucking sure.

"Uh, okay?" And he looked at me, like I was supposed to do something. I squinted at him, like maybe his motives would reveal themselves if I just tried hard enough. "Can I help you?"

And the guy just looked at me. I'm pretty sure it looked like I was confused as fuck, because I was, but this guy just kept staring, like I was the most interesting thing that he had ever seen. What the hell was I missing?

"Can I fucking help you?" I asked a little louder, just in case the guy was deaf.

Antonio smiled. "You're Lovino, right?"

Very few people know my name. Those who do are on a strictly need-to-know basis. Feliciano knew my name… Actually, I think he was the only one who knew my name. I was Romano to everyone else, and that's what peopled screamed in fear when I shot them.

A chill ran down my spine, sinking right into my stomach.

"Are you here to kill me?"

The grin faltered on the guy, and he looked at me. And then I just felt like a fucking idiot. And then this fucker _laughs_ , because he thinks it's a joke! He waves over the waiter—the real waiter, who's not getting a tip out of spite—and orders more coffee.

I stare at the table. I hated the table. It was real wood, something that probably smelled like pine if you mashed your nose against it. No, wait, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I embarrassed? It was a legitimate fear.

I looked up, right into Antonio's eyes, and I found myself looking away.

"You're a weirdo," I said, finally looking back at him. "I'm meeting my girlfriend. Go away."

"Uh, I know your brother."

Oh, well _that_ made sense. I crossed my arms and tilted my head, because that makes me look like a badass, and I sneer.

"So, he sent _you_ to discuss business? Wow, what an idiot. You didn't even—I thought you were going to kill me. And don't use my name, I…"

The look of confusion was only growing. The waiter showed up and placed down the coffees. I chugged mine, because anywhere was better than those eyes. It was crap coffee, and I burned my tongue, and Antonio was still sitting across from me when I banged my cup back on the table.

"Who are you?" I asked, leaning forward and lowering my voice.

The grin flickered across his face, but it died just as fast.

"Uh, well…" He sounded Spanish. "I go to the same grocery as Feliciano. I work there, actually, I ring him out, and we started talking. I actually asked him out, but it turns out he already has a boyfriend. But, well, he mentioned that you were single, and that you were interested in going on a date and, uh…" He tapped one of his fingers against the table.

I felt a tingle in my toes. It was pretty interesting, feeling the tingle creep up my legs, seep through my stomach, and finally settle in my cheeks. I was blushing. I was on fire, because Feliciano had set me up on a fucking date, and I had accused this guy of killing me twice.

I looked back at the table. Someone needed to carve their initials into it.

"Well, glad to know Feliciano let me know," I said, because there was literally nothing else I could say. Because that _mother fucker_.

Antonio smiled, and he seemed to have missed the point. "He said you were very interesting. I agree."

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, nonono.

"Ha, okay, no," I said, standing up. "Look, I'm not sure what he told you, but—"

"You're very cute," Antonio continued, like he hadn't heard me. "And I thought Feliciano was cute, but you…" Antonio's eyes flicked down, once, twice.

And, oh my God, I was looking at him. Because he was cute. Brown hair, green eyes, nice—alright, nope, I can't do this. I don't do dates. I don't do dates with random men my brother decided on for me.

"You're blushing," Antonio commented.

Someone stepped on a cat's tail. After a second, I realized the noise had come from me, something made of pure shock. My mouth was open. I probably _was_ blushing, holy fuck. I was very silently freaking out.

"I…" Words, Lovino, words! "No."

Antonio laughed, and I wanted to sink into the ground. "No?"

"Just, no."


	10. Swears

In the past, Spain had loved listening to how people had screamed in pain, or cursed his name. The sounds of entire civilizations being oppressed was sweeter than any orchestra.

Now, he really just liked listening to Romano swear.

"Fucking skin me alive and dip me in a salt bath, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Once, when he was younger and wilder, Spain had tried to master the language of swearing. For instance, after one particular naval battle, Spain stood in front of England, his sword at the Island empire's throat.

"Fuck!" Spain had proclaimed loudly.

It took five years for England to stop laughing whenever they met for a battle.

Romano made it look easy.

"What, did your whore of a mother forget to teach you some fucking manners when she beat discipline into you?!" Romano yelled, banging the steering wheel and slamming on the breaks.

Spain steeled himself. He had waited centuries, but now was his time to shine. He would swear successfully.

"What a whore!" Spain yelled, banging his fist against the passenger side window.

Romano slowly turned to him. He made a small noise of disgust. "Don't." Someone honked behind them. Romano whipped around. "Shove a giant dildo up your nose, you lazy son of a bitch! It's a stop sign, not a fucking green light!"

Spain felt his face split into a grin. He leaned back in his seat, nodding his head along to Romano's voice.


	11. Flight from 49B - Delayed

**Fanfic for fanart by** cocoamebuns **.**

 **Find their original pic at (** cocoamebuns . tumblr . thecom/ post/132656943832/lovino-and-antonio-are-stuck-at-the-airport-they **). Obvi take out spaces and replace thecom with com.**

* * *

Lovino woke up to a panel of lights, flight-attendant buttons, and air vents. He blinked up at them, his memories slowly slinking back to him.

"We're here," the lady sitting next to him said again.

Lovino rolled his head to look at her. His neck was on fire, and he wished he had opted for the weird neck-pillow that had been offered. But they looked so _stupid_ , and now his neck ached.

The lady was gathering her things into her carry-on. "Looks like we got here at the worst possible time." She leaned over him and flicked the window shade up. "Right in the middle of a blizzard. I'm surprised we landed at all."

Lovino rolled his head to look out the window. Everything was that fuzzy, white-gray that only seemed like a color in the winter. No, not the winter, not in Italy, just in shitty, shitty America.

"Crap," Lovino commented.

It took for-fucking-ever to the gate, and Lovino didn't understand why he couldn't _stand_ , they were maybe a hundred feet from the exit, and he could get out and _walk_ there faster than the plane was moving. The flight attendant told him he was making a scene.

Finally, Lovino pulled out his phone.

"Lovino!" Feliciano yelled, and Lovino held the phone away from his ear.

" _Ciao_. Just landed, heading to the gate."

"Oh, well, you'll still be here in a couple of hours, right? You said your plane was already delayed, but I think you're only, what, an hour off? That's not bad at all, Lovino! And then we can have Christmas together and Grandpa won't be—"

Lovino already had headache. "Feliciano, please, it's eight in the morning and I still have another flight to sit through."

"Oh, are you taking off?" There was the distant noise of pot banging together.

Lovino sighed. "No, I literally just said I landed. Look, I think we're getting off. I'll call you before the next flight leaves, okay?"

"I love you, Lovino!"

Lovino rolled his eyes, "Dork," and ended the call. He picked up his carry-on and was finally allowed to stand. The line inched forward; Lovino spent most of the time cursing under his breath because these people couldn't walk.

The airport was like any other airport. Everything felt like it was grimy, and the air felt carefully filtered. Still, Lovino couldn't shake the feeling he was inhaling the sneezes of a thousand different people. The snow and light pouring through the windows made everything feel a little cleaner and lighter, though.

However, he reflected as he pushed through a crowd of assholes taking up the entire middle of the walkway, at least he only had another hour flight, at most. And that was just to get to whatever ass-end of America Feliciano had decided to settle.

49B, there was his gate, at the very end of the terminal. Lovino strode toward it. There was crowd of people gathered around. A guy caught his eye and jogged up to him, and Lovino slowed.

"Eh," the guy introduced. "The flight's been delayed. You probably have—"

" _What_?!" Lovino pushed by the guy. "What do you mean it's been _delayed_? I have places to be!"

The guy followed alongside him. "Yeah, they said the snow's really, really bad, and they have to do… things to the plane, and the uh, runway." The guy shrugged. "They're saying it's going to be at least another hour."

"This is some fucking _bull_ shit," Lovino muttered under his breath.

Lovino stopped in front of the desk, looking around for a flight attendant. There was only the screen, blinking the words:

EST. TIME OF DEPARTURE: 9:34 AM – DELAYED

Lovino groaned, ran a hand over his face, glared at the service desk. Well, fuck. Still, he could probably make it to Feliciano's by twelve, if the plane left _right_ at nine-thirty.

"Are you here for Christmas?"

Lovino jerked, hadn't realized the guy from before was still standing next to him. He was wearing a scarf, and standing at the chilly end of the terminal, Lovino was both impressed and annoyed at the guy's forethought.

"Yeah."

Lovino collapsed into one of the seats and tugged out his phone. Feliciano took longer to answer this time, but he was just as loud as before.

"Lovino, have a safe flight!"

"Feli, I'm probably going to be late."

The noise on the other end of the line quieted. "Huh? But why?"

Lovino let out a long sigh. "Because the airport is shit and my fucking flight got delayed. Apparently, they can't handle a little snow, even though it can barely be called a blizzard. I'll be there around—one, hopefully." He gave himself some time for fuckups.

"Alright, just as long as you're safe! Ah, Lovino, I have to go, because there's something boiling—"

"Yeah, yeah."

Lovino hung up. He sank down in his seat. He glowered at the surrounding people, who glared right back. Fuckers probably weren't even _going_ to Christmas with their family, they were just there to make the plane smell.

It took Lovino a moment to realize the guy from before was sitting across from him. Lovino frowned at him, and the guy smiled.

"I'm here to visit a friend."

Lovino's frowned deepened. "Okay...?"

The guy nodded. "Are you from Italy?"

"What gave it away, the accent?"

"I'm from Spain. My friend, who I'm visiting, comes from Germany, even though he's only over on a visa. So I'm basically here to tell him, 'It's been three years, and your visa's been expired for two of them, come back to Europe!'" The guy laughed.

Despite himself, Lovino let out a quick noise that could maybe, under the right circumstances, be understood as a laugh. The guy grinned, like hearing Lovino laugh had made his whole day better.

"I'm Antonio," the guy introduced. "And I have two last names, but you probably won't need them."

Lovino raised an eyebrow at the guy, but he could feel the smirk on his face. "Lovino Vargas."

Antonio nodded. "I like your name. I think it suits you. So, what are you doing here, all the way from Italy, in the middle of the winter?"

"I already said, Christmas." There was a silence, and for a second, Lovino was going to refuse to fill it. But the guy smiled and tilted his head, and Lovino rolled his eyes. There wasn't anything else to do. "My brother went to college here, fell in love, stayed here. Grandpa followed after him, and he wants his first Christmas to…" Lovino held up his hands and air quoted, "Include the whole family."

Antonio nodded. "Why did he pick Maine?"

Because he wanted something 'different.' Because he didn't want the family business. Lovino scowled and looked away.

"Because he wanted to make the trip as fucking inconvenient as possible. He took out a map of the US and just found the place that got the most snow and is a fucking pain to make plans to." Lovino sat forward, looked back at Antonio. "Did you know his town doesn't have a fucking rental car service? They get no fucking visitors, so they have no way for me to rent a car!"

Antonio laughed, and Lovino leaned back in his seat.

"Why don't you have your brother pick you up?" he finally asked, through giggles.

"I don't like driving with him when it's the middle of summer, let alone when there's ice everywhere. Speaking of ice," he raised his voice, "when is this plane going to get fixed?"

No flight attendant appeared. Lovino let his neck roll back, and the ache from earlier reappeared. God, he hated America. He hated it in the summer, hated it in the winter. It wasn't so bad in the fall, actually.

"Lovino?"

Lovino picked his head up and frowned at Antonio. "What?"

"Want to grab something to eat? They didn't serve breakfast on my plane, and even if you don't want anything, I'll buy you a coffee."

He squinted at Antonio. "You're paying?"

A look of fear flashed over Antonio's face. "I… If it's not too much, yes?"

Lovino shrugged and hopped up. "Fine. I didn't bring any spending money, anyways."

The smile reappeared. Antonio nodded and stood, turned and dug through his backpack. "Just let me grab my wallet."

Lovino rolled his suitcase over. "What do you mean?"

Antonio glanced over his shoulder. "I'm just getting my wallet?"

"What? You're leaving your backpack here?"

Antonio's movements slowed. "It's really heavy. I brought a lot of my friend's books he left, and it was too expensive to put one underneath the plane. So I just shoved all my clothes and stuff into the bottom of the bag, and put my friend's books on top, and now it's really heavy."

Lovino was horrified. "Someone might steal it."

"They're really cheap clothes."

"So, you aren't worried at all that some douche might just stroll up and steal everything?"

Antonio flourished his wallet, turned to face Lovino fully. "No, not really. I mean, the only thing that's worth anything is this." He shook the wallet.

Antonio started walking, and Lovino followed beside him, suitcase in tow.

"I bet you're one of those people who never lock their doors, either," Lovino said, shaking his head. "You're going to act all surprised when everything you own has been pawned off."

Antonio shrugged. "Well, whoever's stealing it probably needs it more than I do."

"So, you'd be fine with someone taking your backpack, as long as they needed it?" Lovino made a face. "It's still _your_ stuff. Can't just… That's so…"

Selfless, actually. Stupid, too. It was more stupid than anything, but he wasn't going to push the point. It wasn't his stuff getting stolen, so who was Lovino to tell this idiot that he was going to end up in the gutter?

They walked in silence for a few yards.

"That's really nice," Lovino finally snapped. "It's really, really, stupid, but also nice."

Antonio beamed. "Where should we go for coffee?"

Lovino slowed, looked around the terminal at the various cafés. He realized he had absolutely no knowledge of any of the restaurant chains. He slowed. He really didn't want to look like an idiot in front—

No, fuck that, why did it matter?

Lovino pointed.

Antonio followed the finger. "That's a KFC."

Lovino gritted his teeth. "Yes."

Antonio nodded. "It only sells chicken. Well, I mean, it might also sell coffee, but it mainly sells lunch. We could try that place, over there."

Lovino threw his hands in the air. "Fine, whatever!"

They walked over, and it was a nice little café. They were served ridiculously expensive coffees with way too much cream and sugar, and sat at a table near a window with a view of the planes inching through the snow. It was, Lovino supposed, mildly better than sitting near the gate and complaining.

"The snow is bullshit," Lovino muttered.

Antonio shrugged. "I don't mind it. I mean, I don't get very much, where I live. So it's nice to see somewhere get so white. It makes everything feel a little more… ah… like home? Plus, if there was no snow, I wouldn't get to talk to you."

Lovino nearly inhaled his coffee. He spluttered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, and gave Antonio a look. "That almost sounded like flirting," he managed to say, "and I have a strict no-flirting rule with people I'll never see again."

"Italy's not that far from Spain."

"We hardly know each other!"

Antonio took an innocent sip from his coffee, eyes wide. "What hotel are you staying at?"

Lovino was definitely blushing now, and he glared at Antonio's scarf. "I'm staying with my brother, you perv."

"'Perv?'" Antonio laughed. "I'm just asking a simple question. To get to know you better." The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. "And beds can get chilly during the snow, can't they?"

Lovino gaped. "I can't just bring you to my brother's house!"

"But you're saying you _will_ bring me somewhere else?"

Lovino closed his eyes, ran a hand over his face, put both elbows on the table, and chopped the air with his hands. "Look, let's just back up here. We're assuming a couple of things. First, that I'm willing to sleep with you."

"Well, aren't you? I'm friendly and cute, and you're funny and cute."

" _Second_ , that we would—sleep together at where ever _I'm_ staying. I'm not… My brother…" Lovino made a face. "I mean, I guess technically he would be fine with it? I just—"

"So," Antonio leaned forward. "I can come and have Christmas with you?"

"I don't even know your last name!"

Antonio held out his hand. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Lovino looked at the hand, back up at Antonio. And he laughed. This was one of the most ridiculous conversations he had ever had, and it was fucking amazing. He laughed and covered his hand with his mouth, hating that Antonio was grinning.

"You're an idiot!" he gasped. "You're the dumbest man I've ever fucking met!"

Antonio nodded. "But I'm great to bring home to parents."

 **…**

Feliciano flung open the door. "Lovin—" He froze, looking between Lovino and Antonio. "Uh… Who's this?"

Lovino gestured. "This is Antonio. He's a fucking idiot who had his bag stolen and needs a place to stay."


	12. Diplomat's Son

**romaspain ( on Tumblr ) said:** You should definitely write more spamano smut like that just saying because oH MY GOSH I SERIOUSLY CANT

 **Based off of Vampire Weekend's "Diplomat's Son." Listen at youtube** **/watch?v=vw6POqKY8oU .**

* * *

Lovino is content to let Antonio touch him. Antonio is happy to do this, and he runs his hands up Lovino's sides, relishing at the feeling of skin against skin, at the quick heartbeat he can feel. His head spins and Lovino pulls him into another kiss.

"Oh, Lovino," Antonio murmurs.

"What?" he asks, sharp, but that just makes Antonio's heart melt. "Take off your shirt. I'm not going to be the only one naked."

"Yes, sir." Antonio laughs.

 **…**

The house is huge. Antonio gapes at it, wonders what sort of business goes on inside that requires such large rooms. He knocks on the door, and is surprised when a kid his age opens it. Maybe a little younger, and he glances at Antonio.

"Yo," he says, and Antonio is surprised at the American.

"I'm Antonio." He grins at the boy, wonders if this boy understands any Spanish at all.

"Okay, good for you. Can I help you?" the kid snaps back in perfect Spanish.

Antonio is highly aware of the backpack—it practically burned. He hopes the cops don't pull by, ask about the strange, poor boy knocking on rich people's houses. He hopes the boy won't call the cops when Antonio tries to sell him drugs.

"Ah," Antonio says.

 **…**

The wind rolls in through the window, and Antonio appreciates the breeze. He is so hot, and he suddenly stalls, unsure of what to do next. His head is spinning, and Lovino must be feeling it by now, too.

Lovino grins at him, eyes unfocused, messes up Antonio's hair. His breathing has slowed, and he kisses Antonio on the nose, runs his hands down his back.

"You're silly," Antonio says.

Lovino grins wider, sticks his hand into Antonio's underwear. Antonio starts, then laughs. And then he moans. Lovino's hands are warm, and clammy, and Antonio almost comes right then. He arches his back.

 **...**

Lovino glances down at the bag of white, then back up at the busy street. His clothes are too expensive for the street, and Antonio knows that everyone is glancing at them as they pass. Antonio doesn't mind. He likes Lovino's clothes.

"So, what, you just ask them if they want it?"

Antonio nods. "Sometimes, they've never had any before, so you have to sell it." A thought occurs to him. "Hey, have you ever tried?"

Lovino looks at him like he grew a third head. "What? Cocaine? _Fuck_ no, my grandfather would fucking kill me!" He lets out a nervous laugh, shakes his head. "He doesn't like me hanging out with the locals for that reason. Drugs." He rolls his eyes.

"I'm a bad influence." Antonio laughs, wraps an arm around Lovino. Smiles wider when Lovino shrugs him off. "You're going to run away from that big fancy house and come sell with me."

"You're a fucking idiot."

 **…**

The whole world is Lovino. All he can smell is Lovino's cologne he stole from his grandfather, the clean sheets, hear Lovino's breathing, feel Lovino mouthing his name against his ear, and Antonio rocks with Lovino's hand.

He could feel warmth start to spread, and he gripped at Lovino's shoulders, dug his nails in because _fuck_ it felt so good, and he sucked at Lovino's neck.

"It's really hard to move my hand when you're trying to press me into the sheets, you know," Lovino mumbles.

Antonio opens his mouth to respond, but Lovino speeds up, and suddenly it's all Antonio can do to not moan. He does moan when he comes, onto Lovino's stomach, warm and hot, and the world is only Lovino's laugh and his hair in Antonio's mouth.

Antonio takes a deep breath and props himself up on his elbows.

"Your turn!"

 **…**

His grandfather is out. Antonio doesn't ask where, and he hops into Lovino's grand old house when Lovino opens the door. They walk through the house, and they end up collapsing in front of the television, a careful distance between them.

Antonio loves the television. He loves the stupid shows that makes Lovino complain about how there isn't any _good_ television, these days. Antonio likes to hear about "these days," even though he was pretty sure Lovino hadn't been around for any other days except these ones.

Lovino flips through the channels, and Antonio enjoys the silence between them. It was a comfy quiet.

"Do you have anything on you?"

Antonio blinks at him, thinks he misunderstood what Lovino said, even though his Spanish was perfect. They stare at each other, and Lovino frowns at him.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

Lovino rolls his eyes. "Do you have anything on you?"

Antonio tilts his head. "I might have something. Why?"

Lovino doesn't answer, and they sit again, watching the TV. Antonio thinks he isn't going to get an answer, but then Lovino fiddles with the remote and look at him.

"Why didn't you ever offer me anything? You know I had the money, and you had everything with you that day you introduced yourself." His face hardens. "Do you think I wouldn't be able to take them? That'd I'd overdose?"

Antonio laughs, and Lovino's cheeks redden. Antonio waves a hand.

"I thought you would call the cops on me! I backed down, and then I tried again the next day, and the next…" Antonio smiles. "I was afraid of what might happen if you ever took something. What I might do." He winks, expects a playful kick.

Lovino taps his fingers against the buttons of the remote. "Offer me something."

Antonio is confused. "Eh?"

"Offer me something. I want to get high."

 **…**

Antonio lies on top of Lovino. The high has worn off, and Antonio wants to talk. He doesn't know what he wants to talk about, but when he looks at Lovino, he's already asleep.

 **…**

Antonio opens his eyes to the sun shining through the curtains, a maid poking him with a broom. He blinks at her, turns over in the bed, but Lovino is gone. He shoos the maid away and dresses.

He pads through the house, shoes gone.

He does not find Lovino.

He does find a group of maids, packing away dishes into boxes. He helps them until it hurts his heart too much, and then he leaves.

Antonio walks through the yard, pads across the beach, and sits in the sand. He sits there all day, watching the waves roll through. He wonders where Lovino is. He wonders if Lovino is watching him from one of those big windows.

Antonio looks back at the house, and it suddenly seems very lonely, sitting there. Too big for this beach, all alone.

Antonio sits and burns in the sun.

 **…**

He is angry.

He is sad.

He supposes that that's how you're supposed to feel when your world is moving away.

 **…**

It's cold at night. Antonio lies on his back and looks at the stars. He wishes the heat from last night had lingered. He closes his eyes and remembers Lovino's fingers on him. But the sand is too cold, the wind making him shiver, the warm covers slipping from his memory.

But not Lovino.

He looks up at the stars that are faded with light pollution, and doesn't see the car with tinted windows and diplomatic plates drive away.


	13. Reflection

**Anonymous said:** Hmm how about some hurt & comfort with Spamano? It would be interesting to see your take on something like alcoholism, family issues, tortured past, etc... your angst is too much for my weak heart ;_;

 **Tortured pasts I can do.**

* * *

Romano jolted awake on the couch, legs kicking out. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looked around the dark living room. Spain had been nice enough to shut the TV off, but not enough to wake him.

Romano checked his watch and groaned. He stood and looked around, wondering which bed Spain had decided to sleep in. Fucker liked to ignore the queen and sleep in the twin, and Romano would usually end up pressed against the wall.

There were no lights on, but Romano saw well enough from the streetlight pouring through his windows. He picked his way across the living room. Saw something move from the corner of his eye.

"Fuck!" He pressed his hand to his chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack," he hissed. He had whispered this, and for a second, he felt stupid.

Spain didn't move. He sat on the ground, back against Romano's cabinets, across from the stove. His long legs nearly stretched all the way across. The light from the window didn't quite reach his face, but Romano saw the way he slumped, how slow he breathed.

It was quiet. Romano was aware of his heartbeat in his ears, the prickle of fear across his neck.

"What are you doing?" Romano was still talking softly, and he couldn't bring himself to edge closer. "Spain?"

He drew his legs up to his chest, and Romano nearly flinched back. Maybe he was asleep, but somewhere, Romano knew Spain was watching him. He considered backing away, but he took a slow step closer.

"Spain?" His voice was barely a rasp.

"Do you think—"

And Romano jumped, because Spain's voice was hollow and loud in the house.

"We go to heaven when we die?"

Romano wished he could see Spain's face, gauge his emotion. He felt like he was throwing darts with a blindfold on. He continued forward, until he was standing over Spain. He wished Spain would say something else, but he realized he was supposed to answer.

"I do," Romano said. "We have to."

Spain held his arms out. "Italy."

Romano wasn't sure what Spain wanted, but there was something so sad about the gesture. Romano didn't think as he sank into his arms, back to his chest, facing the oven. Spain was warm, and he almost fell asleep listening to him breathe.

"I think I am a bad person."

Romano's eyes snapped open. "You're not. You're one of the best people I know."

He stared at the oven, at the tiny green clock, the time.

"Do you remember that one time I came home from abroad? You said I was being weird for weeks afterwards. I don't know the year, but…" Spain sighed. "I killed people. I know you know that."

Romano's eyes were hot. "Everyone kills people."

"But I think I enjoyed it too much. Prussia, he talks about it, sometimes. He said he enjoyed it, but there's…" Spain's arms tightened. "I don't think he means it. I think he just got caught up in things."

"You don't think you just got caught up in things?"

Spain didn't answer.

 **…**

Romano didn't like this place. They couldn't be that far from home, but the air was dry and hot. It clung to him like a mist, and he had to rub the sweat from his forehead and bangs. Romano had no freaking idea where they were.

He hadn't even wanted to come. He _shouldn't_ have come.

"Romano!" Spain called from above deck. His voice was loud, even through the wood. "Romano, come look!"

As soon as Romano set his feet down, his stomach rolled. He hated sailing. The sailors barely looked at him, now; more than once Romano had to shove someone away from standing on his toes. Their eyes barely settled on him.

Above deck, the air hit him like a fist. He scowled at the sun, ran a hand over his face. The world tilted, and he had to grab the railing to avoid falling to his knees. His mouth watered. His eyes swam.

"Look at the horizon."

Romano jumped. "Fuck! When did you get there?"

Spain laughed, but Romano couldn't focus on his face. "I should take you out on the ship more often, Romano! You look like you're going to be sick. Look at the horizon, and I promise you'll feel better."

The railing was the only solid thing in the world. Romano clung to it and looked out. He focused on the distant, hazy line where the sky met the water. It rocked, but his stomach settled, slowly, slowly. It was like magic.

"Feeling better?" Spain chirped.

"No."

"You look better." Spain grabbed Romano's shoulder and led him to the starboard side. "See that?" Spain pointed. "We're going to break them."

Romano frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Remember France? Well, he likes to tease me, so he's helping with a revolt. We've been sieging the city for _months_. But we're going to break them." Spain gripped his shoulder. "It'll be fun!"

"Uh." Romano squinted. "Do I… have to fight?"

"No, you're just my good luck charm." Spain laughed. "You just have to cheer me on, yeah? Are you feeling better?"

"I'm _fine_."

"Don't be like that. I need you happy. Come on." He poked Romano, once, twice. "Smile. Come on. I know you can. Romano—"

"Stop poking me!" Romano swatted at Spain's hand, but he was smiling.

 **…**

Romano stared at the ceiling of his tent. It was quiet now. So quiet. He could hear the crickets. He kicked off the covers, curled on his side. He wished there was noise again. Anything other than this.

His heart jumped to his throat when he heard someone approaching. He scrambled up in bed, scrambled through the sheets, the dagger, the fucking dagger, it was right _there_ —

"Romano?"

He froze, stared at the dark entrance of the tent. It felt like someone was standing on his chest. He heard Spain step in. Another weird noise, and Romano realized he must be taking off his armor.

"Are you awake?" Spain's voice was—strange. It had the same lilt, happy lift at the end, but there was something wrong with it. "I missed you."

"Why did you bring me?"

The crickets again.

"Because I thought you would have fun," Spain said. His voice was closer now, closer to Romano's bed.

"Fun? I've been stuck in this stupid tent for like, three days! I can't go outside because—" Romano wanted to cry. "Don't come near me, you're probably covered in blood. Where the hell _were_ you?"

"I had to help!" Spain's voice was too happy. "I can't just let them decide they can do their own little thing, you know? They belong to me."

"They _are_ you!"

There was a long silence. Romano's breathing was so loud, and he realized he was crying. He felt sick. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. When he felt Spain sit down next to him, he flinched away until he was dragged into a hug.

"Cheer up!" Spain said. "I won't bring you next time. We can keep heading south, visit somewhere new, get you something as a souvenir."

Romano could smell the revolt on him. It stank like sweat and blood—thick—hitting the back of his throat. He sat stiff in Spain's arms, trying to breathe through his mouth. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, but it was just Spain. Spain, who knew how to help seasickness.

"It's okay, Romano."

Slowly, slowly, Romano relaxed. "You just ordered people around, right?"

"Right," he said, so easy. "That's it."


	14. Christmas Lights

**Anonymous said:** spamano with the "i live below you and i was minding my own business watching the snowfall out the window WHEN..." prompt bc that sounds hilarious XD

 **Merry Christmas children!**

* * *

Actually, Lovino guessed the ground floor wasn't so bad. Sure, he had to hear every single person stomp down the stairs, but at least he didn't have to haul groceries up five flights. But it was fucking freezing.

He curled into the couch, blanket thin as tissue. This was _bullshit_. He knew it got cold up here. It's why he wanted an apartment on the upper floors—so he didn't have to put up with this _bullshit_.

Snow tapped against the window. Thick and puffy, mini clouds raining down. Lovino realized he had been watching the snow for ten minutes, and he returned his attention to his phone.

Like a magnet, Lovino's eyes returned to the window. God, it was freezing and slushy—it would all melt by morning—but it was pretty.

Something red flashed by his window.

"What the fuck."

He had heard the glass rattle from here.

"Holy fuck."

No, no, no—that hadn't been a person. Lovino marched across his tiny apartment, feeling goosebumps prickle across his skin. Nope. There was no way. And if it had been a person—and Lovino froze, hand on the glass—they were going to sue him. For something. Probably.

Lovino pushed the window out, stuck his head into the air. The wind ripped him to the core, and he squinted through the flurries.

"Hello."

Lovino yelped, leaned over the pane. "You're alive!"

The man groaned, then let out a pained chuckle. He was sprawled on his back, already covered in a fine layer of snow. "I hope so."

Lovino craned his neck, tried to see what the fuck had gone down. "What the _fuck_ were you doing? Wait… Are those Christmas lights?" Lovino looked back at the man. "Were you putting up _Christmas_ lights?"

"Happy holidays!"

"Did you fall out of your _window_?" Lovino stared. He craned his neck again. "Holy shit, you did."

"I did," the man agreed.

Lovino considered the situation. He could, he supposed, just shut the window and leave the man to it. But— _but_ —the man might be broken. Paralyzed, broken. Broken painfully.

"Are you okay?" Lovino asked.

"I'm sort of cold." The man didn't move, and Lovino feared the worst. "I think the snow, you know, cushioned the worst of it?"

"We need to call an ambulance."

The man struggled to sit up. " _No_!"

"You fell from the second story; I'm calling a fucking ambulance."

The man caught his wrist. "I don't have insurance! Look—" He grabbed the edge of the window sill and managed to drag himself standing. "Look, I'm fine!" He smiled. "I'm Antonio."

"And _I'm_ calling an ambulance."

"No—"

Lovino turned and stalked back to the couch. Where the hell did his phone go? He dug through the blanket, ended up ripping off the cushions. It wasn't there.

Lovino slapped his pockets, turned back around. Antonio stood dripping in the middle of the living room.

"Get out of my house!"

Antonio looked down at himself, back up at Lovino. "I just fell from my window."

"That doesn't give you permission to trespass!"

"I'm injured!"

Lovino found the phone in his back pocket and whipped it out. "Then let me call an ambulance!"

"Eh…" Antonio reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "I'm not _that_ injured." He looked around, nodding to himself.

The absurdity of the situation hit Lovino. He wanted to laugh, and he could feel the edges of a smile threatening to creep across his face. This man should be dead—or broken. Lovino ran a hand over his face, then chopped the air with his hands.

"You—"

"You don't have any Christmas decorations up!" Antonio gestured. "Where's your holiday spirit? You could even, you know." He made scissors with two fingers. "Cut out snowflakes. I could do it, for you. What's your name?"

"Oh my God, Antonio—"

"What's your name?"

"You have fallen! You know, fucking _fallen_! From the floor above us!" Lovino pointed at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure you should at _least_ go to the ER."

Antonio smiled guiltily, shrugging. "I really have maybe three hundred dollars in savings."

A strange noise—like a whine, and Lovino realized it was coming from him. "You _what_?"

"I, ah, maybe, ah, spent most of it?"

"On _what_?"

Antonio threw his hands in the air and laughed. "Christmas decorations!"

Lovino laughed, and he slapped a hand over his mouth and glared. Antonio stepped closer, hands behind his back.

"Ah, you _can_ smile!"

"You, you." Lovino wagged a finger, shook his head. "You are going to make me punch you."

"What's your name? And where are all your Christmas decorations?"

"Okay, do you ever think you maybe have too much dedication to Christmas decorations?"

"No. Why?" Antonio tilted his head like a confused dog.

Lovino squinted at him. "You _fell_."

Antonio nodded. "You are very caught up on that."

"Out."

"What?"

Lovino walked past Antonio, shutting the window. It would take a week for it to warm back up to anywhere _near_ fifty. The glass rattled as Lovino shut the window, and when he turned around, Antonio was much, much too close.

"It's very chilly in here, isn't it?"

Lovino's back was pressed against the wall. "Well, you did leave the fucking window open."

Antonio smiled, tilted his head again. There was something about the motion that made Lovino's heart thud against his chest. He wondered what—what _activities_ would worsen spine injuries.

Then he remembered Antonio was an idiot.

"You know what can keep us warm? We—"

Lovino held up a hand. "Let me stop you there. Look, I'm not sure what you think this," he gestured between them. "Is, but let me assure you, it is not… Well, I don't date guys who fall out of windows."

"Okay, but what about festive guys? My apartment is warm, and I can make hot cocoa!" He suddenly backed away, and Lovino blinked. "At least until your heat kicks back on, yeah?"

Lovino blinked again. "What?"

"It's warmer in my apartment. I can see you shivering from here." Antonio laughed. "I promise, no funny business, either! Just cocoa."

This asshole was an idiot. But— _but_ —Lovino could practically see his breath.

" _Just_ cocoa."

"What's your name?"

Lovino sighed. "Lovino."

 **…**

A week later, Lovino threw open the window.

" _Again_?! Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"


	15. Dehydration

The sun. The sun. The sun.

 **…**

Dark. Stars.

Spain blinked up at them.

He had forgotten there was night.

 **…**

The sun, again. He could feel his skin blistering. And the sand. He was on a beach.

"You're going to catch fire if you don't get out of the sun."

Spain agreed. Tried to drag himself to the shade which must, must be there. But his legs couldn't push him, and he couldn't roll over.

"The sand, idiot. Cover yourself with sand."

Spain coughed, pain through his side, his head swam.

 **…**

"How many times do you think you've died?"

Spain's eyes snapped open. There was an endless span of stars, and he realized he must be somewhere near the sea. Smoke from cities usually darkened the sky; it was only this clear far, far away.

"Where are we?" he rasped. He winced at his own voice, tried to swallow.

"How the fuck should I know?"

Spain tried to move his head. "You're here."

Romano was sitting next to him, staring out into the distance. He was wearing something light and cool, like when they worked in the garden. Probably more comfortable than Spain. His sword dug into his hip and side.

"Yeah, so? I hate the sea. I have no fucking idea where we are." Romano pointed up, and Spain followed his finger. "Use the stars."

"No charts." God, his throat was so dry. "Water."

"Get your own water."

Spain looked over at him, but Romano had scooted a few feet back, so he had to crane his neck. Everything hurt. Ached.

Romano picked at a loose thread on his pants. "You're sunburned. You're going to hurt even more if you don't get out of the sun before morning. God knows how long you've been out here."

"I can't."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you can." He stood and brushed his hands off. "I'm going to wait in the shade."

"Romano."

Romano walked out of Spain's field of vision. He cursed, felt pain flare through his side as he jostled. He ended up staring at the sky, trying to recognize the constellations. But his thoughts swam in time to the throb of pain in his chest.

And he was hot.

Sunburn.

"I told you," Romano called.

Spain gritted his teeth. He drew his knees up, took a deep breath, then kicked himself over onto his stomach. White flashed across his vision, and his stomach twisted with nausea. He thought he was going to die.

He didn't know how long he lay there. By the time his vision returned to him, the sky was getting lighter. He didn't want to bake in the sun, not again.

"Hey, stupid!"

Spain groaned. " _Help_ me."

"No, you got yourself stuck out here, you can drag yourself to the shade. Come on. It's barely five feet. Come on, you lazy fucker, the sun's rising."

Spain dragged his head up. Romano was standing, arms crossed, between a forest of tree trunks. He might as well have been across the ocran. There was no way Spain could drag himself across there without passing out.

Romano sat down and crossed his legs. He patted the space next to him. "Come on, you giant baby."

"Romano, I am going to kill you," he panted.

"You have to come and get me first, don't you? You're running out of time."

"Fuck," Spain snarled.

He could only move his left arm—the muscles on his other side would scream at him when he attempted anything with his right. Spain threw his arm out ahead of him and propped himself up, dragging himself through the sand. Sweat ran into his eyes.

Sweat and tears.

Shame burned in his stomach, and he glanced up at Romano as he hauled himself forward another few inches, then looked away. Romano caught the look.

"What?"

Spain didn't answer. Another few inches, closer to the shade.

"Oh, don't give me the fucking silent treatment. Spit it out." Romano raised an eyebrow.

"What…" Spain nearly gave out. "What am I _doing_ here?"

Romano frowned at him. "When was the last time you saw me."

"I—"

"Months. It's been fucking months." Romano looked past him, back out at the sea. "You said you were—" He cut himself off, ran a hand over his face.

Spain hauled himself forward, finally at the tree line. Finally. He let himself rest catching his breath. Romano didn't say anything else, and Spain watched him, observed the way he sat, back straight.

"England," Spain finished. "I was trying to hunt down England."

"Yeah. And he burned down your fucking ship. Because you're an idiot. And stabbed you. Because you're a _fucking_ idiot."

Spain managed a smile. "Yeah."

"I miss you." Romano began to reach forward, and Spain leaned, desperate for contact. Romano snatched his hand away at the last second. "Come home."

Spain's mouth was so, so dry. "I can't. Not yet."

Romano's mouth twisted, and he looked away. Spain dragged himself further.

"Come with me."

"I can't, Spain."

Blackness swam at the edges of his vision. Romano looked like a heat haze. Spain dragged himself closer, realized he was bleeding from somewhere, dragged himself closer, closer.

"You can," he gasped. "You can, you can, you can. Come with me. We'll go home as soon as…" Romano seemed to be drifting further away. "As soon as he pays. We can go home, and work on the garden, and learn Spanish, Romano, Romano. He just needs to pay."

Spain fell back onto his stomach, trembling, gasping for air.

"Romano."

 **…**

The day was hot. Spain watched it pass in fits. First bird song. Then heat, even under the shade. Then crickets.

Mosquitoes. He hadn't realized they were mosquitoes.

 **…**

A night. Fitful sleep. Waking up to coughing up mouthfuls of blood. His side ached before he fell back asleep.

 **…**

Romano was gone—probably hadn't even been there to begin with.

Spain had walked around the island countless times, cut into trees, drank the sweet sap until his stomach felt like it would burst. Hoped Romano would appear from a heat haze.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to get off this island.

He wanted to hurt England.

He wanted Romano.

 **…**

The fishermen didn't speak Spanish, but broken Italian from French. It made Spain's heart hurt.

* * *

 **Anonymous said:** I love your writing! I've only read a few of ur stories but they are all so adorable! Anyways I wanted to suggest a prompt where Person A gets badly injured and Person B has to comfort them until help arrives. If u decide to do this one could you do Spamano?


	16. Difference Between Spanish vs Bostonian

**Anonymous said:** uhm, do you think you can write a 50s spamano au? if not, that's ok ^^"

 **And so we have Mad Men.**

* * *

"Ah, I'm here for the job?"

The man's eye flicked over Antonio once, twice. "You're late, fucker." He took a last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into one of the waiting ashtrays. "The meeting starts in ten, and I would have liked at _least_ twenty minutes to prep you. But what the fuck can you do?"

Antonio wasn't quite sure how to respond. He hadn't been aware there would be meetings.

"Lovino Vargas," the man introduced, extending a hand.

Antonio shook it eagerly. He had heard Americans like firm handshakes. "Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo."

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Quite the mouthful. Cut it down in the meeting. Investors get antsy when they hear long names. They like a quick name. Something powerful." He led them down the gleaming hallway of the foyer.

Antonio nodded like that had made sense. "Why?"

Lovino hit the button for the elevator. "Why _what_?"

"Why do they like quick, powerful names?"

Lovino gave him a long, confused look. "How the fuck should I know?" The elevator opened, and Lovino stepped in, hit the button for the forty-fifth floor. "So, these assholes you're meeting, yeah?"

"Yeah?"

Lovino lit another cigarette. "Something stupid. Home garden shit, like they think that sort of shit can survive after the war effort. Little thing, but they managed to scam enough money from the banks to have a ton of…" Lovino rubbed is fingers together. "So, we have to sell it."

Antonio had no idea what this had to do with the mailroom. "Right. What do you do?"

Lovino inhaled his cigarette too fast, and coughed. His eyes watered as he looked at Antonio. "I basically keep this place running. I have no idea how these assholes got where they are." He looked away.

"So, what am I doing, exactly?"

Lovino's eyes snapped back to him. "Selling our company."

Antonio nodded slowly. "What, exactly, is our company?"

"Holy fuck. You _are_ the transfer from the Boston division, right?" Lovino stepped closer. "Please, for the love of God, tell me you're the transfer."

"I'm the transfer."

Lovino's eye grew wide. "You were for the mailroom."

Antonio looked at his feet. "I was for the mailroom," he said slowly. He looked up, shrugging. "But, how hard can this job really be? I mean, I just have to—to… What, ah, do I have to do?"

Lovino whirled and jammed the buttons of the elevator. "No, no, no, _no_! Fucking—" He slammed a fist against the door. "Stop, you…" He descended into Italian cursing.

The doors opened. Lovino was suddenly calm and collected, finishing his cigarette. A few people look up from their desks, and a woman stood.

"Is this him?" she asked.

Lovino grabbed Antonio's arm and led him forward. "It is. Carriedo, your assistant. Emma, Mr. Carriedo. Is the meeting all set up?"

"They're in there, waiting for you."

"Perfect."

Lovino's grip was tight on Antonio's arm, and he led him through the rows of desks. Antonio stumbled over his shoes—a size too big, the only pair at the second-hand shop—and smiled and waved at anyone who looked at the him too long.

The building was very expensive. Everything gleamed. Antonio assumed this wasn't the mailroom.

"Look, we're an advertising company," Lovino hissed, close to Antonio's ear. "We put ads into the newspaper, on the radio. We are very, very rich. Please, _please_ , just pretend you know how to sell gardening supplies. No, that you know what will make other people _buy_ gardening supplies."

Antonio's arm hurt, and he pulled away from Lovino's grip. "Is there a difference?"

Lovino looked like he was going to cry. "I'm going to get fired."

"No!" Antonio wrapped an arm around Lovino. He had no idea where he was going, so he just kept walking. "No worries, friend. Where am I going?"

Lovino ducked under Antonio's arm and pulled him along by the sleeve of his suit. His hand recoiled like the fabric bit him. "God, that is some of the cheapest material I've ever fucking felt," he whispered. "I should have known. I thought—it looked like a cheap reproduction. It was."

They stopped outside a glass door. Lovino ran a hand over his face. Antonio fingered his suit.

"Look." Lovino faced Antonio, held Antonio at arm's length. "Just—lie. Lie. They'll ask questions, all you have to do is lie your ass off. Can you do that?"

"Ah."

"Fuck." Lovino pushed Antonio through the door. "Gentlemen, Antonio Carriedo."

 **…**

Lovino's office was very nice. It overlooked a park, and Antonio was sure under all the clutter, it also very nice. Maybe it had some nice wood paneling. It had at least five ashtrays, scattered throughout the mounds of paper.

Lovino was sitting at his fancy chair, knocking back another glass of Sambuca. Antonio tapped his feet. He wasn't one for hard alcohol, so he swirled the ice in his glass.

Finally, Lovino focused on Antonio.

"Tell me again what they agreed to for their contract?"

"Ah." Antonio took a sip and nearly choked. "I think it was—it was a lot."

Lovino looked over the contract. "You're a miracle."

"You think so?" Antonio smiled.

"You're a Hail Mary." Lovino laughed and shook his head. "You're an idiot who managed to compose a symphony. Do you think you can do it again?"

Antonio's smile froze on his face. "Eh?"

Lovino sat forward, steepled his fingers. "Everyone here thinks you're the transfer. So you're going to have to fucking fake it. Do you think you can do what you just did in there again?"

"Eh?!"

Lovino nodded, thinking. "It shouldn't be too hard. All you have to do is schmooze like you did in there. Talk about how you know how gardeners think. Look, I don't really care _how_ you do it, I just need you to do it."

"Look, I'm flattered and all, but I didn't even graduate high school. I'm from Spain. I can't understand English when people talk too fast. I used the last of my savings to buy this suit. I am really not the man to be trying to make you money."

"We'll get you a new suit," Lovino said gravely.

"Really?"

"And I can teach you better English. If my brother can learn, so can you. He's even dumber than you are. Other than that, you just have to lie through your teeth."

 **…**

"Alfred F. Jones, at your service. Transfer from Boston."

Lovino shook his hand. "Right. You'll be in the mailroom."


	17. Acrylics and Cheese

**A birthday gift for rikway on Tumblr!**

 **Staples sells a bunch of office supplies. Pizza Hut sells pizza.**

* * *

Lovino had been hired as a fucking delivery boy. That was what he had signed up for—car trips to creepy trailer parks and shoving pizzas into drunk people's hands. He _liked_ doing that.

But what was he doing? He was standing at the counter and taking people's orders. Because Alfred, the asshole cook, had sauntered up and told him Emma had called out.

Here he was. Seething.

The guy rubbed his chin, glanced at Lovino, smiled. Lovino seethed.

"So, I have two friends," the customer started.

"Congratulations." It was so reflexive, it took Lovino to realize he had even said it. He pursed his lips and then forced a smile. "What can I do for your two friends?"

"Well, I'm at lunch." The guy paused, and Lovino had no fucking idea what he was supposed to say. "And, well, we want a pizza. But we could only get together…" The guy searched his pockets. "Uh, five dollars and thirty-three cents." The change _clink_ ed against the counter.

Lovino resisted the urge to check the menu behind him. He delivered these things—he didn't know how much they cost. "Well, you can get a personal pizza—"

"Ah, no, I have to feed my friends. Well, one of my friends. I don't have money, and neither does Gilbert."

Lovino took a deep breath through his nose. "Well, that's the only thing on the menu you can afford."

The guy nodded. "How big are the personal pizzas?"

Lovino realize he had no freaking clue. He held his hands a random distance apart. The guy considered, tilted his way this way and that. Lovino's eye twitched.

"Can I get toppings?"

"Not for five dollars you can't."

The guy pointed at the change. "And thirty-three cents!"

Lovino looked at the change, then back up at the man. Lovino let out a puff of air, reached out and dragged the money towards him. "I'm keeping the money."

The guy gaped. "What?"

"You lost the privilege of money. It's mine now. Say you got mugged." Lovino shrugged.

 **…**

Staples was a minute walk across the parking lot. He forgot where the pens were literally every time he stepped foot in the store, and he felt like a total ass walking to the registers.

A guy was busy with… a bunch of plastic boxes. He was carefully stacking the boxes on the register counter behind him. His back was to Lovino, and for a second, Lovino appreciated the view of the man's—

"Excuse me," Lovino said.

Antonio whipped around. "Lovino!"

"Oh." Oh, he had been staring at the Staple Boy's ass. His face flushed.

Antonio grinned. "Fancy seeing you here again! I'm just…" He gestured. "Stacking the acrylics. For the ink. So people don't steal them, even though we wave them through the doors if they beep."

"That's some shitty fucking business practices right there."

Antonio nodded. "Probably!"

Lovino looked around. "Man, it's dead around here."

"Yeah!" Antonio pointed. "We have one other person, and they're probably shop lifting. I find the little packaging all the time in the bathroom, so they don't beep."

"Even though you wave them through?"

The boxes wobbled dangerously, and Lovino shot past Antonio to try and stop the inevitable crash. His hand smacked into the boxes and sent them scattering, one of the loudest noises Lovino had heard in his entire life.

"Fucking—sorry." Lovino went to pick them up.

Antonio hopped in front of Lovino. "It's okay! I drop them all the time, and honestly I was only stacking them because I was bored."

Lovino stood back up. "Okay. Your mess, not mine."

Antonio nodded. The red Staples shirt looked good on him, complemented his skin tone. For a second, Lovino was jealous. At least they got to wear colors here, even if they wore black—

"What the hell is going on with your shoes?"

Antonio looked down. "Hm?"

Lovino was mortified. "Did you _spray paint_ your shoes?"

"Oh, yeah. We have a dress code, and my shoes were white, but my manager said I could spray paint them black instead of buying new ones."

Lovino laughed.

 **…**

"Did you get the pens?"

"The what?"

"Uh, you were getting pens."

" _Fuck_!"

 **…**

"We should grab a pizza sometime," Antonio said, digging through his pockets.

Lovino recoiled. "What?"

Antonio was looking at his feet, still searching for money. He glanced up, quickly. "I think it would be fun, no? As long as we take our lunches at the same time—"

"I'm not eating this trash." Lovino's lip curled. "Did you really just call this stuff pizza? Have you even _seen_ this stuff?" Lovino turned and grabbed one of the boxes he was supposed to be delivering. "It's practically cardboard. And the _cheese_."

Antonio had stopped searching for money, and Lovino realized there hadn't been any to begin with and smiled.

Antonio scratched the back of his head. "Smells pretty good to me."

"That's because you can't afford real food."

"Didn't they remaster the recipe?" He reached for the box, and Lovino held it away.

"No, that was Dominos."

"Do you want to go to Dominos?"

Lovino sighed. "God. If this place wasn't the only damn store hiring, there's no way I would go _near_ this place. Have you ever had homemade pizza made by a _real_ Italian? Crunchy crust, spiced to perfection, just…" Lovino shook his head.

"I wish I had money because I would pay you for that."

Lovino laughed.

 **…**

"Wow, a ten-percent discount."

Antonio nodded. "Yeah, it doesn't seem like much, but if you combine it with your Staples Reward card, you can actually get some pretty good deals. Francis, in Copy Center, got a printer for thirty dollars."

Lovino frowned. "The one that broke?"

"Yep! And then he got a ten-percent discount when Gilbert repaired the printer."

"Who's talking about me?!"

Antonio froze, gripping the pack of pens in mid-air. Lovino raised an eyebrow.

Gilbert—bleached white hair and all—sauntered over, black shirt and black pants and stupid fucking hair. Lovino felt himself bristling and scowled. Gilbert leaned against the snack stand.

"Is _this_ the Pizza Hut Boy?"

"Lovino," Antonio said, smiling quickly, "this is Gilbert."

Lovino scowled deeper. "Is this the guy who wouldn't know a good hair style if it kicked him in the balls?"

Antonio gestured. "Gilbert, Lovino."

"You have a problem with my hair?" Gilbert scoffed. "I thought you said he was cute! He looks like he's going to bite my head off."

Lovino's eyes snapped back to Antonio. "You _talked_ about me?"

"I said you were cute!" he tried.

"I'm _handsome_!" Lovino said, louder than he intended.

Gilbert guffawed.

Lovino pointed. "I will shoot you."

Antonio raised his hands, still holding the box of pens. "Lovino, Gilbert really isn't that bad once you get to know him."

" _I'm_ not that bad?"

Lovino pulled out his wallet. "I just want my pens."

Gilbert snickered. "Pen jar," he muttered.

Antonio reached around the counter and slapped at Gilbert's arm. "Shut up!"

"Pen jar?" Lovino squinted. "What pen jar?"

" _The_ Pen Jar."

Antonio waved his hands. "The pens are free! Lovino, I'll text you—"

"What is this fucking pen jar?"

Gilbert shrugged and walked away, hands in his pockets. Antonio stared after him, eyebrows drawn together, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Just-heartbroken and confused and Lovino was going to kick him again.

"Antonio…"

Slowly, Antonio reached under the counter and brought out a mug filled with pens.

"It was _you_ who stole all the fucking pens! What the _fuck_ Antonio?!" Lovino grabbed at the mug and held it close. "What the fuck!"

Antonio held up his hands again. "I wasn't sure how to get you to visit! I couldn't just keep coming in and not buying anything! I can only ask how much pizza costs so many times!"

"Oh my God. Do you know how many times I got bitched at by people? They thought I was stealing them so people could sign receipts. Oh my God."

 **…**

"Oh, you finally got your nametag!"

Lovino shrugged. "It's stupid. The last thing I want is for people to know my name."

Antonio peered over the counter. "What's… _vaffananculo_ mean?"

"Fuck off."

"What?"

"It means 'fuck off' in Italian."

Antonio's laugh made everybody in the restaurant turn their heads.


	18. Knock-Me-On-My-Fucking-Ass Medication

I'm dying. Holy fuck, I'm going to die.

I don't want to die. Please God, please don't let me die here, I want to be in my bed, I want to die in my bed, I don't want to die here and everything hurts and I'm going to die.

"Lovino?"

That's a fucking angel. That's an angel about to welcome me to the fucking—front part of heaven. With the door. The door of heaven.

"I don't want to die," I said.

"What?" the angel asked, sounding concerned. Fucking nice of that angel, being all sympathetic and nice as he's welcoming me to heaven. I really don't want to die.

"I don't want to die," I repeated, louder. "Please, God."

It hurt to talk.

"Ah, don't cry, Lovino! You're okay."

This angel didn't seem to comprehend what I was saying to him. It's not okay. I am dying. I am even, probably, already fucking dead.

"Help me."

"Ah…" The angel's face swam in front of my eyes. He was cute, and I felt like I knew him, but he had a very nice face. At least it wasn't a fugly angel welcoming me to the doors of heaven.

"It's me, Antonio."

A rush of relief hit me like a fist. It was _Antonio_ , thank God. I wouldn't have to die alone. But that meant Antonio had also died. He was also in pain.

"No," I tried to say, but it didn't really sound like that. My tongue wasn't cooperating, flopping around in my mouth. "Save yourself, Antonio!" I tried, louder, because fuck, if it was louder, then maybe he could understand me and we wouldn't have to die together.

But I also don't want to be in heaven alone.

Antonio stopped holding my hand, and I felt like an idiot. Why had I told him to go away? Now I was—

"He seems like he's in distress," Antonio's voice floated nearer. "He keeps yelling and crying randomly. Is he okay?"

Another, annoying, chipper voice that cut right into my head replied: "Oh, yes, that's just the medication we use. He'll be a little out of it—"

"Shut up," I tried, because now I had a headache.

"He'll be a little out of it for a while, but this behavior is completely normal. Give him an ice cream and he'll be right as rain!" The voice laughed, annoyingly.

"Shut up," I repeated.

Antonio laughed loudly and squeezed my hand. "Haha, I guess the medication makes him grumpy! You didn't really mean to say that, did you, Lovino?"

I tried to say, "Fuck yeah I meant to," but it came out more like "Fucksjdffhr."

I looked at Antonio, and I became aware that I was crying. My mouth hurt, and I couldn't feel my tongue. This was the worst day ever, and it was all fucking Antonio's fault. Probably. I was probably in the ER. Fucking—Antonio and I don't even _have_ insurance, we only have dental.

My tongue flopped uselessly in my mouth.

 _Wisdom teeth_.

Antonio wiggled my hand. "Do you remember where we are?"

 _We were at the mother fucking dentist_.

"Weh aht thah dehist."

Antonio smiled and nodded slowly, like he did when he had no fucking clue what was going on. "We're at the dentist's office!"

Annoying nurse returned. "Alright, well, he seems conscious enough to send home." She seemed a lot less chipper, and my headache thanked her. "Are you able to make it out to the car okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I should be fine. He's pretty light."

Fucking Antonio, making me look bad.

He neared, trying to loop my arm around his neck. Fuck him. I struggled away, swinging my legs to the other side of the bed. Antonio made a funny noise at the back of his throat, and we were stuck that way. I kicked my legs, and Antonio's grasp loosened.

I fell on the ground on my ass. It hurt, and I bit my tongue, and that hurt and didn't hurt. I was on the dirty ground and my tongue was bleeding. Tears welled up in my eyes. I started to cry.

Antonio crouched down in front of me. "Hey, sorry!"

"Fah!" I waved my hand at him, which wasn't really responding, so my whole arm went along for the ride.

"I won't drop you this time."

Somehow, even though I was trying to punch him in the face, Antonio gripped my arm around his shoulder and lifted me up.

My legs wouldn't work right. They'd go forward alright, but then they couldn't take my weight, and they would buckle. My head hung forward, and every time my legs failed, a long string of blood-drool dripped out of my face and onto the floor.

I _hated_.

We walked across that fucking floor for ages, and then suddenly I was falling.

" _Fuh_ ," I shouted. I ended up in my car.

I blinked at the scene out the window. It seemed blurry and squiggly.

Antonio sat in the seat next to me. I looked over at him, and he was humming, and he reached over to do my seatbelt. He was so good to me, driving me back and putting on my seatbelt to make sure I didn't fly out the window in a fiery death.

"Why are you crying again?" Antonio asked, voice high and alarmed.

"I ouve you."

"Please stop crying, people are going to think I'm stealing you." Antonio held my hand, smiling. "I love you—no, stop sobbing! Um, uh, why don't I distract you?"

He was such an idiot—if I knew he was distracting me, I was just going to keep crying. This made me cry harder.

"Um, ah, okay, what's your favorite color?"

"Blgeh."

"I like red. What's your favorite animal?"

"Wooooooof."

"I like bulls. Um… Okay, if you could give one piece of advice to the world, what would it be?"

I stared at him. What a dumb fucking question. "Whah dub keshh."

"Mine would be to find someone who loves all your flaws, and never do something that makes you unhappy."

No, no, Antonio, that was a dumb fucking question. "Dub."

Antonio smiled and squeezed my hand. "I like doing you."

I laughed. Air blew through my lips, and blood-spit splattered onto the cup holders.


	19. Antonio's Fabulous Puppet Extravaganza

It was Sunday.

Sunday meant Grandpa was teaching Sunday school.

Sunday meant Lovino was stuck watching Feliciano. He fucking _hated_ watching Feliciano.

"Lovino," Feliciano whined, "I'm bored."

"Go play with your toys," Lovino said, flipping through the TV channels.

"All my toys are _bor_ ing, Lovino. I want to _do_ something. Please—" Feliciano was dragging out the ends of all his words, "— _please_ Lovino. Puh - _lease_ , Lovino. I'm going to tell Grandpa you were just watching TV and not playing with me. _Lo_ - _vin_ - _o_!"

"I'm going to strangle you."

"Grandpa said you had to play with me!"

"Holy shit," Lovino breathed.

 **...**

A Google search:

"Shit to do with 7 year olds"

 **...**

"Welcome!"

They were in a field. There was a table with a shoebox on top, and a man was welcoming everyone who dropped money into the shoebox. There was a cardboard sign that had the prices.

A dollar for kids, three for adults.

There was a shitty wooden-stand-thing that everyone was gathering around.

"Welcome!" the man said loudly. "I'm Antonio, and I run the puppet show! So, it'll be four dollars for the two of you. Is this the first time to my puppet show?"

Lovino was busy looking for ones.

Feliciano grinned. "It is! Lovino said I was being really, really annoying, so he said he would take me to the puppet show if I didn't tell Grandpa that he said all these swear words when he stubbed his toe in front of me. I've never been to a puppet show!"

"I only have a five," Lovino finally said, handing the money to the man.

"Thank you for the tip!" Antonio said brightly.

"What? No, give me change."

Antonio pointed to the sign.

 _! Exact change only !_

Lovino took a deep breath. "I didn't know it costed _money_."

Antonio smiled. "You know what, usually I don't do this, but for you…" He winked. "… I'll make an exception."

"Wow," Lovino deadpanned, "thanks."

"Any time!" Antonio laughed. "One time only, actually! I really need money!"

Lovino dragged Feliciano to the wooden-stand-thing.

"No, Lovino, I want to sit up by the front." Feliciano tugged on his hand. "Lovino, no, come on, I want to see! I want to sit at the very front! I've never seen a puppet show!"

"Fu— _fine_!"

They sat down in the very front. Feliciano was practically bouncing up and down, a grin stapled to his face, looking very hyperactive. Lovino hugged his knees to his chest.

This better be the best fucking puppet show he's ever seen.

Antonio left the table and snuck around the wooden-stand-thing. He tiptoed, in broad daylight, and held one finger up to his lips. The kids fell quiet, save a few excited whispers.

Feliciano hit Lovino's arm and shushed him. Lovino hadn't opened his mouth for five minutes, but whatever.

From behind the wooden stand thing, softly: "Hon, hon, hon."

Some kids _boo_ ed.

A sock puppet popped up. It appeared to have straw glued to its head, and some around the mouth. "Hon, hon, hon! It iz I, Franny!"

Feliciano _boo_ ed with the other kids.

"Hmm," Franny-puppet said, "what evil zing should I do today? Oui, oui, baguette. Oh, I know! I will finally defeatz zhat annoying hero, Toño! Hon, hon. And I 'ave a new invention to do zat, Eiffel Tower! Zhe _Pain Ray_!"

The Pain Ray was a water pistol painted red and black, hastily tapped to Franny-puppet.

It was a very, very shitty puppet show.

The kids fucking _loved_ it. By the end, they were cheering as Toño-puppet defeated Franny-puppet's Pain Ray.

Antonio jumped out from behind the wooden-stand-thing and bowed as the kids clapped and cheered. He grinned, and Lovino looked away when Antonio caught his eye.

It was not an entirely shitty puppet show.

 **…**

"Grandpa?" Lovino called as he walked into the house. "We're going to be late if you still want to talk to Father Keith—"

" _Lovino_!" Feliciano shrieked from upstairs.

Lovino could hear his brother's footsteps pound from his room to the stairs and begin down them. And then, about halfway, it was less footsteps and more like Feliciano falling down the stairs.

"Feliciano? Are you okay?"

"Lovino!" Feliciano ran into the kitchen. "Can we go to the puppet show again?!"

Lovino frowned. "The… Oh, _hell_ no! Wouldn't you rather go see a—I don't know—a movie or something? Or play with your toys?"

"No, Lovino, I want to go see Antonio and the puppets! Grandpa said you would take me after mass! I'll even use my own money and everything!"

Grandpa walked into the kitchen. "Going to the puppet show?" he asked, ruffling Feliciano's hair.

Lovino made a face. "I…"

Feliciano made puppy-dog eyes, and Grandpa gave him a stern look. Looking between them, Lovino had no choice.

"I guess so."

 **…**

"You came back!" Antonio chirped. "I'm so happy you enjoyed the puppet show!"

Lovino pursed his lips. "I didn't. I'm here against my will. I was dragged here against my will to see this puppet show. I didn't enjoy the puppet show."

Antonio tilted his head slightly. "Oh, that's… Okay, how about this. If you tell me your name, I'll let you pick the storyline for this week's puppet show!"

Lovino frowned. "What do you mean? You don't have like a script or something?"

Antonio shook his head. "Nope! I make it up as I go along. So…" He grinned, and it did funny things to Lovino's pants. "What's your name?"

Lovino took a breath. "No."

"That's a funny name."

Lovino pointed. "I'm not telling you my name."

Antonio pouted. "Aw."

Feliciano raised his hand. "Can I pick the story?"

Antonio switched his attention to Feliciano. "Oh, man, you totally can! I just need you to tell me your brother's name, and you can totally pick what—where are you going?"

Feliciano tried to pull his hand out of Lovino's. "Lovino, I wanted to pick the story!"

Lovino refused to watch the puppet show. He played 'Words with Friends,' but he kept getting distracted by Antonio's voice and missing important word spots.

"Hon, hon, hon!" Franny-puppet cackled. "All iz lost for 'ou, Gil! You will be thzrown into zis pit of acid!"

"But I zought we vere vriends!"

"'Ou zought wrong, baguette!"

"Fear not," Toño's deep voice boomed, "I am here to save you, Gil!"

Lovino glanced up. Gil-puppet was held up by a stick. Lovino scoffed.

 **…**

A Yelp review:

 _Lovino Vargas 3:47 pm_

 _Totally unrealistic main character. Not a hero._

 _Not a terrible puppet show._

 **…**

"Lovino!"

Lovino gripped Feliciano's hand. "How do you know my name?"

Antonio grinned. "You left me a Yelp review! You have to put in your actual name and stuff, or it's through Google, I don't really know, but I do know we should go out for a date!"

"What?"

Antonio nodded. "And, if you agree, I'll put on a private puppet show for Feliciano!"

Lovino blanched.

Feliciano gasped. "Lovino! A private puppet show! Lovino! Say yes, say yes, Lovino, you have to—" He sounded like he couldn't get air into his lungs fast enough to get the next sentence out. "Lovino, we have to! Lovino!"

Lovino tugged Feliciano's arm. "I will throw you in a river."

"Lo- _vin_ -no!"

Antonio clapped his hands together. "You don't have to decide right now. You can tell me after the show." He winked, but he didn't really seem to know how to wink, and he accidentally closed both eyes. "It's a really special one."

Feliciano gasped again.

 **...**

A piece of dialog:

"Oh, Bastard, you look _so_ dashing today!"

"Why thank you, mysterious, handsome stranger who does not resemble any persons living or dead!"

 **...**

Lovino was struggling to keep the grin off his face. "What the hell was that?"

Antonio was smiling. "It was our date!"

"Why the fuck was I rock?" Lovino hid his smile behind his hand.

"Puppets are expensive and I am poor! I can, however, offer you a stunning private puppet show as a first date."

* * *

 **PUPPETS**


	20. Bruce

"No."

"Oh, Lovino, come on! He needs a place to stay—"

Lovino pointed. "I'm not having that _thing_ —" He jabbed his finger. "—in the living room!"

"Don't call Bruce a _thing_ , Lovino!" Antonio wrapped a protective arm around Bruce. "That's rude!"

"It's a stuffed moose, Antonio! It literally _is_ a fucking thing!"

Antonio pouted. "Aw, Lovino, look at Bruce's face! He'd be a great conversation starter, wouldn't he? We could hang our coats on his antlers, or… Lovino, look how cute he is!"

Bruce was not cute. Bruce was seven feet tall and a God damned monstrosity.

Lovino's lip curled. "He looks demented."

Antonio shrugged. "He's not the most attractive stuffed moose around, granted, but he's _our_ stuffed moose."

"No, Antonio, he's not _anyone's_ stuffed moose. Bring him back to where you fucking found him."

"Lovino—"

"Holy shit, Antonio, bring it back!"

Antonio made a pained face. Lovino knew the face well.

"Please tell me you didn't fucking _buy_ this thing."

Antonio held up his hands. "Lovino, I can explain—"

Sometimes, Lovino wondered why he married this man. Sometimes, Lovino wondered if he would have married this man had he known about the fucking hoarding problem.

But he usually had to stop thinking about whether or not he would have married Antonio had he known about the fucking hoarding problem, because the answer was always 'yes.'

And that brought Lovino great shame.

" _Get our fucking money back_!"

"Lovino, Bruce was a steal! I couldn't _not_ buy him!"

Lovino crossed his arms. "How much was he?"

"Twenty dollars, Lovino!" Antonio shook the moose. It rocked dangerously on its hooves. "Twenty dollars for a full-grown moose!"

Fuck, that _was_ a pretty good deal, all things considered.

"Why does it look so…" Lovino searched for the word. "Fucked up?"

Antonio patted Bruce. "Well, I got him at a taxidermy place, and I guess they had an apprentice or something—it was really a favor for my aunt's second husband's cousin."

"Bill?"

"Apparently his apprentice was really bad at first. The moose was taking up space. Bill said it was bad for business."

"Why? Because it's so ugly?"

Antonio frowned. "Stop insulting Bruce, Lovino."

"I don't want Bill's apprentice's shitty moose, Antonio. Take it back."

Antonio's face broke. He sank to his knees. "Bill made me promise no-takebacks before he showed it to me."

"For _fuck's_ sake, Antonio!" Lovino ran a hand over his face. "Fuck. Fuck, okay. Okay, we can keep him, but he's going in the basement—"

Antonio hopped up, eager as a dog. "Do you think he'll fit?"

"I wasn't finished! He most definitely will _not_ fit in the fucking basement. You can keep him if he goes in the basement _and_ you throw away some other shit to make room for him."

"Aw, Lovino—"

"I'm done talking about the fucking moose. Go throw some shit out, and come get me when you're ready to move him."

 **…**

" _Antonio, what the fuck_!"

"I—"

"It's been _three fucking hours_ , Antonio!"

Lovino descended into the Hell Pit. Dust hung in the air, and it smelled like a nursing home. Never would Lovino have dreamed his future house would have a room that smelled like a nursing home.

But such is life when your husband collected old people junk.

"Antonio, where are you? Fuck, we need a floodlight or some shit down here. Antonio?"

The Hell Pit had started as a corner. It was all the old people junk from Antonio's apartment: an old bowling ball, an iron, and a rusted cowbell.

But, like some sort of toxic mold, the corner had spread.

It morphed into a small cabinet. The cabinet became cramped and cluttered, the bowling ball falling off and smashing into the hardwood repeatedly. A second cabinet was in order.

Lovino realized there was a problem when half of the basement was full of bookshelves crammed with old shoes and packs of discontinued gum.

From out of the gloom, Lovino's husband appeared, covered in grease and sweat.

"What the fuck have you been doing for _three_ hours? Bruce has been _looking_ at me. I can feel it. It's creepy as shit."

Antonio's eyes were wide, and his shoulders were tense. "I can't decide what to throw out."

Lovino closed his eyes for a brief second. "Why?"

"It's all—they all have _stories_ , Lovino!"

Lovino picked up a genie lamp. "What the fuck even _is_ this?"

"A hookah."

"Can I summon a genie with it?"

"You can get high."

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "When was the last time you got high? No, I know the answer to that, because Gilbert got you that stupid vape and put a weed-cartridge in it. Throw this out."

"Lovino, it's a hookah—you can't just throw these out."

"Why not?"

Antonio didn't seem to have an answer. "Because it has a story." He looked lost.

"Oh?"

Antonio nodded. "It… Her name is Clo."

"Do you want to keep the moose, or do you not?"

Antonio stood straighter. "I can keep both. It's not _only_ your house, Lovino."

"The basement was supposed to be a study." Lovino spread his arms as far as he could. "You turned the study into the _Hell Pit_ , Antonio."

"The Hell Pit is a strong name."

"I don't care, that's what this is, and we're putting Bruce down here."

 **…**

Feliciano practically kicked the door down. " _Where is the baby_?"

Lovino looked up from his puzzle. "What—"

Feliciano ran over to him and hugged him. But Lovino was still on the ground in front of the coffee table, so Feliciano more dived on him, knocking him backwards. Lovino slammed his knee into the table.

" _Mother fucker_!"

"The _baby_ , Lovino! Where's the baby?!"

"What the shitting _fuck_ are you _talking_ about?!"

Feliciano pulled back. "Antonio said you have a son now!"

Lovino stared at Feliciano.

Feliciano stared back, grin huge on his face.

Slowly, the grin faded.

"Do… Do you _not_ have a son?"

Lovino pushed Feliciano off of him and sat up. "He was talking about Bruce."

"What?"

"Antonio was talking about Bruce."

Lovino pointed.

Bruce had been positioned by the door, for the coats. When Feliciano had burst in, he had smashed the door into Bruce's nose and dented it.

It was an improvement.

Feliciano looked from Bruce to Lovino. "I'm confused."

Lovino crossed his legs and returned to his puzzle. "What else is new?"

"Lovino, why is there a moose in your house?"

"He is our son now."

* * *

 **Antonio has issues.**


	21. Fuck Rachel

**thatonespamanoshipper said :** Could you maybe do more PTA dad romano? I mean if you want to of course, that's first priority and all. I really loved the peanuts fic you did with that kind of thing so yes okay thank you!

 **Continuation of chapter seven: "Fuck Peanuts."**

* * *

"Can you say _papa_ , sweetheart?" Antonio waved a hand in front of Camila's face. "Claudio, I have some bad news."

Claudio didn't look up from his comic.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to return your sister."

Claudio's eyes snapped up. " _What_? What the heck are you talking about! Dad said that—"

Antonio held Camila in front of Claudio. "She won't _speak_ , Claudio! I don't know what else to do! We'll have to return her and get a better baby. Maybe a puppy. I like cats better, but Dad likes dogs better, so I guess it'll be a fair trade."

Antonio could hear the engine from a mile away. The sounds of screeching tires. Of burnt rubber from tires they've had to replace weeks ahead of schedule. Lovino's third child, even.

Claudio ran to the garage, and he was already yelling as he threw open the doors. " _Dad_ ," he whined, "Papa said that…"

Claudio froze, then scurried back inside. He hid behind the couch Antonio was sitting on. Antonio, for his part, bounced Camila on his knee.

Lovino strode in, groceries in one hand, the other on his hip.

"Claudio!" Lovino called.

Antonio grinned. "Welcome home—"

Lovino stalked around the living room, groceries swinging widely. "Where is he? We have business to attend to."

"Oh, my day was fine, thank you for asking," Antonio said brightly. "I'm afraid we're going to have to return Camila, she won't speak!" Antonio held up Camila. "Look, see?"

Camila gurgled, and Lovino scooped her up in his free arm.

"Da," Camila said.

Antonio was offended. "Papa," he whispered, trying to be as persuasive as possible.

"A fucking _bake_ sale, Antonio!" Lovino kissed Camila on the top of the head. "There's a bake sale _tomorrow_ and I have abso-fucking-lutely _nothing_ baked! Can you imagine what Rachel will say? Jesus, she's such a—"

Antonio coughed loudly. "Wasn't there a flier?"

" _Some_ one didn't give it to me," Lovino said darkly.

"Santa?" Antonio said.

"Jimmy's mom didn't _mean_ to skip over me! I was gonna' ask him for another one, but…" Claudio trailed off, or his voice was muffled by the couch cushions.

Lovino gave Camila to Antonio. He dragged Claudio out from behind the couch, stood him up, and put a hand on either shoulder.

"Claudio," Lovino said, looking deep into Claudio's eyes, "today is the day I am going to teach you your heritage. You're going to cook the best fucking bake sale foods to ever grace the face of your elementary school. Do you want to make Rachel embarrassed?"

"Who?"

"Do you want to make Jimmy's mom embarrassed?" Lovino nodded, slowly. "Because we are. Do you hear me? Do you know what your heritage is?"

Claudio shook his head.

"It's being really petty and shoving how much better we are than other people in their faces. Are you in?"

Claudio thought it over. "Can I lick the spoon?"

"Of course." Lovino's voice was grave, deadly serious.

"Can _I_ lick the spoon?" Antonio asked.

"No," Lovino said, not looking at him.

"Da," Camila said.

Antonio hung his head.

 **…**

Claudio had passed out on the couch hours ago, frosting covering his face. Camila, the good baby she was, watched them with her big, sleepy eyes as they walked around the kitchen; always content to lay on her blanket, head on a stuffed animal.

Antonio poured another glass of wine, watched Lovino. The wine had mellowed his movements out, and now Lovino's hands were calm and practiced, mixing in coloring or frosting, checking the taste of this batter and that.

He had changed out of his suit, in just underwear and a kitchen apron. Boxers were the only thing he would wear when cooking—everything else in his closet was too expensive.

Antonio sipped wine.

"Are you looking at my ass?" Lovino asked.

Antonio giggled. "No. I'm just thinking about how happy I am." He considered. "I mean, I _am_ looking at your ass, but also thinking about how happy I am."

Lovino grunted. He cut open another cupcake, laying down the chocolate frosting. "This looks like a hamburger, right? This is so fucking cute, I could kill myself." Lovino stuck his finger into the frosting and held it out for Antonio.

Antonio nearly cheered with joy.

"Don't eat my finger off," Lovino laughed.

Antonio caught his wrist, slobbered all over Lovino's hand. Lovino scoffed, but it turned into a chuckle, grew into a full-blown laugh he had to slap his hand over, tears streaming from his eyes.

"I cannot believe," Lovino hissed between silent laughs, "I'm making fucking cupcakes at two in the morning."

Antonio loved him.

 **…**

"Jen!"

Jen stiffened, then turned around. "Ah, Lovino—"

"I need your table," Lovino said, eyes invisible behind his sunglasses. "I need to show the _fuck_ out of these PTO bitches. I made hamburger cupcakes."

Jen smiled. "They're really cute."

"I know." Lovino slapped his tray down on the table Jen had been resting her diaper bag on. "Watch these. I'm going to get the rest."

"The… rest?" Jen asked, but Lovino was already striding away.

By the "rest," Lovino meant four more trays of various themed cupcakes. Jen felt very inadequate about her cookies; they either had too much baking powder or too much baking soda. They were sad cookies.

Lovino's cupcakes were arrogant. They were not sad.

Lovino stood behind his cupcakes, one hand in his pocket, sipping on a coffee, hair styled, shoes shiny. He caught Jen staring at him.

"I haven't slept in twenty-four hours. These fucking cupcakes took ages to make."

Jen noticed his hand shaking as he sipped.

"I have so much fucking caffeine in my system I can actually _feel_ my heart deteriorating." Lovino said it so softly, Jen wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or whispering it to himself.

Lovino sold every single one of his cupcakes.

He made close to two-hundred dollars.

Jen watched him in between customers, and she was almost positive his head kept dipping down because he was falling asleep standing up.

"You know," she said, "I admire your dedication to helping the school district."

Lovino laughed. "Ha, no, I just really want to rub Rachel's and Lauren's face in how fucking fantastic my cupcakes are."

 **…**

"Papa."

"Da?"

"No, _Papa_."

Camila started crying.

"She loves me more," Lovino called from the kitchen.


	22. Milking

**Anonymous said:** I'm sick and would really appreciate some spamano making out

 **If anyone's interested, there's a PruMano / Prussia's turn of this lol**

* * *

"Hello!"

Lovino licked his thumb and flipped the page of his book. "Welcome to CryoLife labs."

"I'd like to—to, ah, donate!"

Lovino looked up slowly. "I'm sorry?"

The man was smiling. Very broadly. "I heard you can make two-hundred dollars donating s—donating. Can that be arranged?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "How tall are you?"

The man blinked, obviously confused, but certainly not dropping the grin. "Ah. I have no idea."

Lovino looked back down at his book. "Yeah, sorry, whatever you plan on doing, it's probably not going to work out."

"What?"

Lovino sighed, dragging his eyes back to the guy. "Let me guess, you're broke?"

The smiled dimmed. "I wouldn't say _broke_ …"

"You're working a dead-end job, you want a game system or whatever, and your dumb friend has this _brilliant_ idea—donate sperm! Right? It's not like we have a vetting system, or disease and drug testing, or, hell, require you to have a high school diploma!" Lovino took a deep, calming breath. "So, no."

The guy looked at him, and the smile hopped back onto his face. "I have a high school diploma!"

Lovino nodded. "Alright, but you're going to need to be in a four-year degree program from a university. You have that?"

The guy held up his hands. "I think we got off on the wrong foot here. My name is Antonio." He stuck his hand through the reception window.

Lovino frowned at the hand. "You're invading my bubble."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm afraid—"

"I'm not broke," Antonio said, "I just have a lot of student loans!"

"From high school?"

Antonio laughed, leaning through the receptionist window. Lovino leaned back, holding up his book in defense.

"No! Lovino, right?"

Lovino used his book to cover up his nametag.

"Lovino, I _do_ have a college degree! It was very, very expensive to get, even. So, I figured, I could help someone out and do the s—the donating thing!" Antonio leaned against the reception box, head tilted to the side. "What do you say?"

Lovino blinked. "You can say 'sperm,' you know. We are a sperm bank."

Antonio nodded. "Can I have an application?"

"You're not blond."

Antonio withdrew a little bit, eyebrows drawing together in a light, puzzled confusion. "What?"

"Most people want a blond baby."

The door into the reception office behind Lovino. Lovino spun around in his office chair, standing up immediately, blocking Antonio the best he could with his back.

"Feliciano, you have an appointment—"

Feliciano waved a hand. "Oh, Lovino, for the last time, it's Dr. Vargas! I'm a doctor!"

"Feliciano, you shove turkey basters—"

Feliciano waved his arms in the air, talking loudly. " _We bring families together_ , Lovino!"

"I'm going to bring my book and your face together if you don't shut the fu—"

Feliciano's eyes focused behind Lovino. "Oh, hello there! Welcome to CryoLife labs, where we bring families meant to be together. How can we help you today?"

Lovino remained standing in front of Antonio. "He's not blond."

Feliciano laughed. "Oh, the Smiths don't know _what_ they want in a baby."

Lovino shook his head. "No, trust me, Anton—this fucker is annoying."

Feliciano leaned to his right, seeing past Lovino. "Do you have a college degree? Yes? How tall are you? Well, you look like you're over five-nine—can you smile for me? Oh, yes, those teeth will do nicely in the bio. Lovino, could you sit down with Antonio and do his forms? I'm about to meet with the Hills, so…"

Feliciano smiled.

Lovino glared.

Antonio smiled at the two of them, like a big, stupid dog.

Lovino sighed, ran a hand over his face, turned, and grabbed the clipboard. "Thanks, Dr. Fuckface, you go meet with the Hills. I'll deal with Antonio."

 **…**

"Alright, name?"

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Lovino stared at the "name" section of the application. Incredibly, they had already hit a roadblock. Lovino should have gone to medical school; the culinary degree was a big mistake.

Lovino sounded it out phonetically.

"Right. Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Right. And you don't know your height, because why _would_ you know your height? Get a measuring tape and measure yourself, for Pete's Sake."

Antonio stared at him. Lovino stared back, getting increasingly uncomfortable.

"Ah!" Antonio yelled. He slapped at his pockets, grabbing his wallet. "My height is on my driver's license! Problem solved."

Lovino couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that.

"Five-ten!" Antonio announced proudly.

"Perfect. Have you ever had gonorrhea?"

Antonio was staring at him again. "Have I had what?"

Lovino groaned and ran his hand over his face and through his hair. "Have you ever had gonorrhea? You know, burns when you pee? Weird spots on your dick that burn? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Antonio's mouth hung open. "That sounds _awful_."

"My brother had it once. It wasn't great."

Lovino checked off the "no" for the sexual diseases.

"So, your boyfriend doesn't have gon-a-re-ha?"

Lovino froze. Closed his eyes. "Antonio, just to be clear here, you're interested in donating sperm."

"Yes?"

"Right, just letting you know I'm going to be testing your sperm count. I hope you feel emasculated by that."

 **…**

"Alright, now for the important part." Lovino opened the door to what his brother affectionately called the "baby-making" room. "So, over there you'll find a charming assortment of my brother's favorite porn, magazine or DVD, whatever you prefer, and…"

Lovino handed him a cup.

"What's this?"

Lovino was going to be testing a total idiot' sperm. "It's a cup. You ejaculate into it."

Antonio looked from the cup to Lovino. "Ah."

Lovino looked around, just checking to make sure everything was alright, and by the time he looked back around, Antonio's pants were around his ankles and his dick was in his hand.

Lovino slapped a hand over his eyes. "What the _fuck_ you fucking crazy mother fucker why do you have your _dick_ out already! I'm in the room! I didn't even shut the door! What the fucking fuck!"

"Ah, sorry, I—" Lovino heard Antonio stumble, and there was a _thud_ of an ass presumably hitting the ground.

Lovino was frozen. He couldn't _look_ because stranger dick, but what if Antonio had knocked over a table or something? He wasn't saying anything—fuck, maybe Antonio had bashed his head on the table.

"Antonio?" Lovino called, inching forward, toes searching out in front of him to make sure he didn't also trip and bash his head open. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I tripped over my pants, but don't worry, I stayed hard!"

Lovino let out a single laugh.

Lovino immediately returned to glowering at the general vicinity of Antonio's voice. "Okay, well, ejaculate into the cup. I'll be waiting outside the door to test your sperm count."

Lovino carefully turned around, and ran to the door. He shut it, trying to erase Antonio's dick from his mind's eye. All things considered, it wasn't an awful dick.

Lovino hid his face in his hands. These are things he should not be thinking about a client's dick.

"Um, Lovino?"

Lovino looked at the doorknob. "Are you done already?"

"Ah, no, but I… Well, what do I think about?"

Lovino's immediate response: "Vaginas."

"No, don't remind me, ah—"

Lovino frowned, nervous Antonio would lose his wood. "Fuck, sorry, fuck, um, dicks?"

"What, a floating dick?"

"No, not a floating dick! Imagine the dick attached to someone! Someone hot!" Lovino stared intently at the doorknob.

"Can I think of you?"

Lovino took a deep breath. He evaluated his life choices that had led him to this point. It was a long evaluation.

"Lovino?"

"No, Antonio, you cannot imagine a dick attached to me."

"What about your brother?"

Lovino's head jerked back. "What? You think my brother is _hot_?"

"I mean—"

"Hey, fuck you!"

"I'm just trying to ejaculate!" Antonio called, desperate, through the wood of the door.

"Well, fuck, don't think of fucking _Feliciano_! He's had gonorrhea!"

"I don't know that that is!"

"Burning pee, Antonio!"

"That's not helping!"

Lovino should have gone to fucking law school.

"Imagine someone licking your dick, that way you don't have to picture a face?"

A pause from behind the door. "Oh, that's working. Thank you!"

 **…**

Lovino hunched over the test tubes. Feliciano strolled in, humming an annoying song.

"He seems nice," Feliciano sang.

"You seem like a fucking dicknose."

Feliciano nodded. "He seems like your type. Did you get his number?" Feliciano leaned closer, whispering into Lovino's ear. "Did you see his dick?"

Lovino would have punched Feliciano in the face had he not been holding a vial full of sperm.


	23. Cupcake

**A story for rikway and girlofthearts on Tumblr.**

* * *

Uncle Fabrice had died, because of course he had died. Honestly, Lovino shouldn't have expected anything different. This was just Lovino's life.

Antonio sighed deeply, looking out the window. He kept casting concerned looks at Lovino. Eyebrows all together. Lip all pouty.

"Fucking assholes can't drive," Lovino said, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, Lovino," Antonio sighed, a slight whimper to his voice.

"Holy shit, Fabrice wasn't even my uncle by blood."

"Aren't funerals so sad? You always get so sad." Antonio shook his head. "It's so sad. Remember Fabrice? He baked that—that, ah, pie."

Lovino snorted. " _I_ don't get sad. _You_ get sad, and you project on me. Hell, Fabrice is the one who asked you to carry his bags into my grandfather's house like you were a servant. Why would I be fucking sad he's dead?"

Antonio let out another sigh, reached out, and gave Lovino's shoulder a squeeze. "I'm here for you."

"Oh my God."

 **…**

It was a shitty grave yard. Lovino stood in between Antonio, who had wrapped an arm around him and cemented it there, and Feliciano, who was sobbing into his hands.

And Ludwig was there. Fucking Ludwig.

"Lovino—"

"For the last time, _no_ , I do _not_ have any tissues."

"No, Lovino!" Feliciano pointed, tears evaporating. "It's a _dog_!"

"What?" Lovino looked around. "That's a fucking bear."

"Lovino," Antonio hissed, "be respectful! No swearing!"

"Shi—sorry. Antonio, look at that dog." Lovino pointed. "Look, it's a bear."

Ludwig leaned closer. "That's a newfoudland."

Lovino scowled at him. "That's a bear."

Feliciano had his hands over his mouth. "It's so cute!"

Lovino looked back at the dog. It was tied to a nearby tree, a woman standing nearby. The dog had its head on its paws, looking around. It was fucking _massive_.

"Why is it here?" Antonio asked.

Lovino shrugged. "It was probably Fabrice's. Fu—frick, I feel sorry for the poor bastard who gets stuck with that thing. Can you imagine taking that thing for a walk? It'd see a cat and drag you down the road."

Feliciano grinned. "I would totally take him on a walk!"

Ludwig leaned back towards them. "They're actually very easy to train. They're working dogs."

A woman standing in front of them turned, glowering. Lovino looked away, sending a quick apology to God.

Antonio smiled and gave a little wave. "Lovely weather," he whispered.

The woman's face turned red, and she pointed violently at the priest. Antonio gave a thumbs-up.

 **…**

Lovino had ordered some eggs and toast. Feliciano had sent his food back three times, asking for change after change. Feliciano, Lovino thought, was the man whose food got spat in every restaurant he visited.

Lovino attempted to blow a smoke ring, but the wind snatched it away. It was a nice day; a shame to get buried and ruin everyone's afternoon. At least his grandfather had the mind to croak in the fall.

Lovino frowned and flicked his cigarette to the ground.

Fucking good of his grandfather.

Lovino ran a hand over his face, ended up with his fingers covering his mouth.

"Lovino!"

Lovino jumped and spun around. "Fuck, what?"

Feliciano was grinning. Lovino's heart sank.

"So, you know that dog?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Well, I guess Fabrice's daughter was stuck on who to give the dog to, so…"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot. That thing won't even fit through the _door_ of your apartment."

Lovino smirked.

Feliciano crossed his arms.

Lovino frowned.

Feliciano waggled his eyebrows.

"You better have fucking _not_ , Feliciano—"

Feliciano laughed. "I was just thinking, because you and Antonio have the house now—"

"Feliciano, what the _fuck_!? You think that's okay?! Just because _you_ want the dog doesn't mean you can pawn it off to _me_ to do all the work so you can visit once a fucking month!" Lovino felt his face heating up. "God you're such an _ass_ hole!"

Feliciano sighed, rolled his eyes. "Lovino—"

"Don't fucking _Lovino_ me!"

 **…**

"Careful," Lovino muttered, "you might break your back."

Antonio craned, trying to pet as much as the dog as possible. "Lovino, I'm making Cupcake comfortable."

"Yeah, but you're making _me_ uncomfortable." Lovino glanced at the dog in the rearview mirror. "How much food do you think that thing eats in a week? A _month_?"

Antonio shrugged. "Well, I'm sure he can catch his own food. He's self-sufficient." Antonio nodded. "He's like a dog-windmill."

"What, catch a fucking _deer_?" Lovino shook his head. "Jesus. God, I can feel its breath on my neck and it's sitting three feet away from me."

"His name is Cupcake, Lovino."

"No." Lovino gripped the steering wheel.

"It's either Cupcake or Strawberry."

Lovino's head shot back. "Says _who_?"

"Cupcake. He told me."

"What, you're the Dog Whisperer now?"

Antonio leaned over, putting his chin on Lovino's shoulder. "Yes."

Lovino burst out laughing. "Get off of—" He jerked the steering wheel.

Cupcake retched.

It took several seconds for Lovino's brain to connect the sound, to the dog, to the driving, to the custom leather seating, to vomit.

Lovino yelled, yanked the wheel. " _Do not vomit_!"

Cupcake gagged again.

 **…**

Lovino watched from the doorway, arms crossed.

Antonio crouched in front of the car, trying to coax Cupcake out. He was too big to drag out—not that Lovino's seats needed anymore destruction.

Cupcake whined.

Antonio nodded. "Come on. Come on, it's okay. Come on."

Cupcake's whine turned into an honest-to-God groan. He pushed his muzzle into his paws, foam coating his mouth and Lovino's seats. He looked, Lovino thought, like a very miserable dog.

Antonio stood, stretched, cracked his back. "I'm afraid he's going to have to live in your car."

"Well, he better fucking clean up his vomit, then," Lovino hissed.

Antonio sighed. "Hey, I have to head off to work—"

Lovino waved a hand. "Yeah, I know. No worries. I'm just gonna' bring this fucking bear to the pound, no big deal."

Antonio walked over to Lovino and gave him a hug. "I love you."

Lovino stared past Antonio's shoulder at the dog. "Love you, too."

 **…**

Cupcake whined. Lovino looked at him, blowing smoke.

"I have to hand it to you," Lovino said, flicking ash, "I admire you. Three hours sitting in your own vomit. Not food or water or even comfort will move you from my car. You've thoroughly ruined my car's seats."

Cupcake looked up at Lovino. His ear flicked. He whined, a long, high-pitched whine. He sighed, whole body moving like a mountain.

Lovino nodded. "Sucks. Doesn't it?"

Cupcake didn't answer.

"One day, they're walking around, the next? They're dead."

Lovino watched his cigarette burn down to his fingers.

"I don't blame you." Lovino nodded. "You can stay in the car. You probably don't even know what happened to him. You think Fabrice just left you."

Cupcake's ear twitched again.

The sun was setting, lighting the clouds on fire. Lovino looked over his car and Cupcake, watched the clouds turn black. Watched his breath billow in front of him, lit up with the porch light.

"Sometimes, it feels like he did."

Cupcake slid from the car, paws scraping on the asphalt. He collapsed next to Lovino, head on his paws. Lovino stared.

Not Antonio. _Lovino_ was the fucking dog whisperer.

Slowly, Lovino reached out. Placed his hand on Cupcake's head.

"You have vomit on your head."

Cupcake licked his nose.

Lovino nodded. "You want a bath?"

 **…**

Lovino opened the door. Cupcake shook himself again.

"This is where Antonio and I sleep. He works nights, so it's just going to be you and me." Lovino put his hands on his hips. "You're too big for our bed, but I can make you a makeshift bed."

The hall closet hadn't been opened in years.

Lovino took a deep breath and tried to open the door, but it was one of those that folded in on itself, but there were blankets behind the fucking fold, so Lovino ended up having to kick shit back to get the God damn door open.

A baseball bat fell out. Lovino didn't even _know_ someone who played baseball.

The hall closet had been designated the "spare blanket and pillow" closet by his grandfather, who hadn't bothered to clean it. It was more of a void, but it only took five minutes to pull out the blanket his grandfather had spilled wine on.

Lovino folded the blanket and threw it in the corner.

He pointed. "That's your bed."

Cupcake whined.

"Look, I know it's not great, but it's the best I can do, right now. We're going to get you a bed tomorrow." Lovino frowned.

Cupcake was at least one-seventy, with huge paws. Lovino could fucking _ride_ the dog.

"You might be too big for a bed from the store. But we'll get you toys. And food."

Cupcake whined again.

"Ah."

Lovino walked downstairs. It sounded like a child was tumbling down the stairs behind him. _Thunk_ - _thunk_ - _thunk_.

There wasn't any dog food, but Lovino found some of Antonio's "leftovers he was going to bring to work, he swears" and threw it in a bowl. He found another bowl and filled it with water.

Cupcake watched him, drool spiraling down from his mouth.

"There."

The food was gone in three bites.

"Holy shit."

Cupcake turned towards the water, but water dripped out the sides of his mouth, sloshing on the floor.

"No," Lovino whispered.

Lovino got a towel.

Cupcake tried to eat the towel.

 **…**

Lovino opened his eyes to a nose.

A whine, hot breath in Lovino's face. The whine turned into a groan.

" _Excuse_ me?"

Cupcake yawned.

"You are on the _bed_ and you are in my _face_ with your stinking _breath_."

Lovino shoved Cupcake's face, but the dog was just _too damn big_ , and the dog's head ended up right back in Lovino's face. Another whine.

Lovino threw his hands in the air. "I guess I'm up now!"

Cupcake's tongue left his mouth. If Lovino were to imagine how a person feels right before they get runover—everything slow motion—it would be like seeing Cupcake's tongue descend toward him.

Cupcake licked Lovino's face.

Lovino yelled.

Antonio groaned next to him. "I just got in, Lovino, be quiet."

"Your dog just assaulted my _face_!"

Antonio snored.

Cupcake blinked, panting. Something wacked against the end of the bed, and Lovino realized with horror that it was Cupcake's tail. Cupcake hopped up, stepping off the bed onto the ground. That's how fucking big he was—the bed was just a stair to him.

Lovino stood, cracked his back.

Cupcake _boof_ ed softly.

"I'm coming."

 _Thunk_ - _thunk -thunk_.

Lovino followed behind.

Lovino was just pouring his first cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, for the love of—"

The door slammed open. "Lovino!"

Lovino closed his eyes.

Feliciano bounded into the kitchen. "Oh, there's the cute puppy. Oh, oh, hello, cute puppy, cute, cute puppy." He bent over, held his hand out. "Oh, cute, large puppy!"

"Ever hear of being let in?"

Feliciano laughed and hopped over to Lovino. "Hey, don't be a fuckin' grump, Lovino."

Cupcake growled and stood.

Feliciano froze. Lovino stared at the dog. Cupcake switched his attention to Lovino, and his tail wagged, fur swinging.

Feliciano pouted. "Aw, puppy—"

Cupcake's tail stopped wagging.

Lovino laughed. Feliciano swatted his arm. Cupcake growled.

"Did you teach him to growl at me?"

"How the fuck could I teach him to growl at you in one night?" Lovino snapped. "Maybe you shouldn't hit me."

Feliciano shook his head. "You're so rude. I got you a dog and you teach him to hate me!" Feliciano crossed his arms. "Honestly, Lovino."

"I'm really not in the mood—"

"You're never in the mood to joke around!"

Lovino gripped the counter behind him. "Feliciano."

Cupcake _boof_ ed, drool dripping to the floor.

Feliciano looked from the dog to Lovino. "Fine." Feliciano shrugged. "Sorry about the dog. Go mope." He turned away. "It's only been six months, what's another six?"

The door slammed shut.

Lovino sank to the floor.

Cupcake shuffled over and sniffled at him. Lovino nodded. Cupcake turned, and for a second, Lovino though he was going to walk away.

Cupcake sat on him.

Lovino yelled.

Someone tumbled down the stairs. Well, Lovino _knew_ who it was, but he couldn't _see_ because there was a mountain sitting on his lap. Drooling on his foot.

"Did you just fall down the fucking stairs, you idiot?"

There was a pause. "I thought you didn't like the dog?"

Lovino reached around and wiggled Cupcake's jowls.

"Clean my vomit up, Antonio!"

Antonio laughed, and Lovino hugged Cupcake. He was warm and large and panting. Lovino closed his eyes, listening to Antonio start to make breakfast.


	24. Me Cago en la Hostia

**Anonymous said :** Could I have "Don't think for one second I'm not naked" for spamano pls? Thank you and have a nice day! ㈴2

* * *

"Good morning, Italy," Spain said, paying quickly and smiling a thanks to the cashier. "I'm afraid I won't be able to Skype until later."

"Why the fuck not?" There was the distant sounds of Italian; it was probably Veneziano.

"Ah, I had to go in to work today."

"It's Sunday!"

Spain took a sip of his coffee. "The barista got my order wrong, but it tasted better than the coffee I was going to order, isn't that funny?"

"Spain, I'm horny."

Spain nodded. "I know, I'm sorry. But I need to go over some reports for next year, and the secretary called me frantic because she locked herself out of the office."

"Spain, Sunday is Skype day."

"Yes, Italy."

"Spain, Sunday is phone sex day."

"The holiest day of the week."

"Spain, I'm fucking _horny_."

Spain hung his head, nearly bumping into a lady on the street. "I know, I'm sorry, but it should only be for a few hours, and then I promise—"

"Don't think for one second I'm not naked."

Spain switched to Italian. "What?"

"I am currently laying on my bed, staring at my dick. It was expecting to see a Spanish dick on Skype, and it's very confused as to where the other dick is."

"Romano—"

"Don't _Romano_ me."

"—I'm at the office. Please, be patient, and your dick can see my Spanish dick as soon as it's free, I promise. Now, read a nice book and think of my sexy, Spanish dick, and I promise it will only be a few hours at most."

"I am horn—"

"I love you, goodbye." Spain hung up.

Spain let the secretary into the building, waving away her apologies. It was only the two of them, and Spain quickly gathered the leftover work from Friday and settled down at Julio's desk. Julio had the comfiest chair in the entire building, and Spain threw his feet up on the table.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Spain continued to read, absently humming.

Buzz buzz.

"There is few to deny that…" Spain muttered, flipping to the next page and skimming. "Huh. Camila, did you know that we're going to invite Fausto over for a Christmas diplomatic meeting?"

"No, sir."

Spain leaned over—buzz buzz—and scrawled a suggestion in the margins. While—

Buzz buzz.

"Oh for…" Spain pulled out his phone.

Four text messages.

Number one: _Did you hang up on me?_

Number two: _When the fuck did you hang up on me, I was talking for like another ten minutes after you said goodbye._

Number three: _Are you ignoring me you fucker_

And the forth was a picture of Lovino's dick, standing to attention.

Spain immediately locked his phone, staring at his reflection in the screen. There was no way Camila could have possibly seen anything—but still.

Spain tried to casually glance up at her. They made eye contact. Spain immediately scrambled for the manila folder he had been reading.

He forced his attention back to the contents of the folder. "While the festival has a great effect on the mood… Little reason to…" He drew a frowny face by the paragraph, but didn't debate more than that.

The phone buzzed.

Another picture, one of Romano's hand wrapped around his dick. Spain immediately locked the phone again, feeling his cheeks heat up. He, too, was horny, and he could feel his dick start to press against his pant leg.

"Don't betray me, you bastard," he hissed to his crotch.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Spain nearly jumped out of his skin. "Nothing," he said loudly. "I'm just reading to myself!"

Spain turned his attention back to his work. He switched to a new document, humming distractedly. "What the hell is a linguistics society?"

"Sir?"

"I didn't know we had one of those."

"Mhm. I think they contacted us about adding that phrase about Christ to the dictionary."

"What phrase?"

The secretary stared at him. "The one about shitting on the body of Christ."

Spain grinned. "They want to add that to the dictionary?"

"No, they want us to publicly denounce it."

"Oh."

The phone buzzed. Spain steeled himself and checked the message. It was a selfie of Romano, holding up his middle finger.

Spain took his own selfie.

Romano quickly texted him back.

 _Sext me_

Spain sighed.

 _I'm working !_

Another picture of Romano's dick.

"Sir?"

Spain threw his phone under the desk. "What!"

Camila drew back slightly. "I need you to sign the suggestions you recommended last Wednesday, and just look over them." She placed the folder on his desk. "Is… everything alright?"

Spain laughed, a little too loud. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"Um. You threw your phone."

"I'm testing my new case."

They stared at one another.

"I'm going to sign these now."

Camila nodded and returned to her desk.

Spain dragged his phone back with his foot. He picked it up and dialed Romano, ducking down slightly so Camila couldn't see him talking. It rung for a frustratingly long time before Romano answered.

"What?"

"Romano, I'm trying to work."

"Hey man, you don't have to look at the texts I send you. And so what if I text you?"

Spain signed a few of the papers. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"And?"

"And your dick is distracting," Spain whispered.

"Really?"

Spain accidentally started to sign as _Spain_ , and he had to cross out the pen and write in his alias. "I know that probably turns you on, but I can't read when I'm thinking of you."

"That's sexy," Romano said, voice low and dark and going directly to Spain's dick.

"Stop it!" Spain hissed.

"What?!"

"Stop saying stuff sexy-like!" Spain finished signing.

"I'm just trying to speak and I don't need this fucking sass. When are you going home? I want to Skype."

Spain sighed. "Right now."

"Oh, really?"

"Camila," Spain called, gathering his various folders together. "I'm going to head home to look this stuff over. Don't be afraid to call me if you have any questions."

 **…**

Spain groaned, watching Romano writhe on the screen in front of him. Sweat was slick on Spain's forehead, but Romano hadn't told him when he could touch himself yet.

"Italy," Spain panted. "Please—"

"No," Romano snapped. "Fucking agree to go to work today of all fucking days." His hand danced around the head of his dick, and he let out the sweetest noise.

Spain gripped his legs, his dick throbbing. He licked his lips, soaking up every inch of Romano on the screen. His legs, his ass, his face contorting, and his soft moans. Spain's hand inched closer to his dick.

"Please."

Romano cracked one eye open. "You can—"

Spain's phone rang.

Spain reached over, eyes still glued on Romano. "Hello?"

"Did you just answer the fucking _phone_?"

"Sorry, sir, but I was just wondering when you were planning on returning the documents you signed? They're already late, and they—"

"Are you seriously talking on the fucking _phone_ right now?!"

"—get to the proper people for reviewing. I was planning on—"

"I cannot believe I am laying here, my glorious body—"

"Dropping them off today after we finished in the office."

Spain had to bite his tongue to stop his moan. Angry Romano turned him on a ridiculous amount. "I'll drop them by in about an hour," he said, voice hoarse.

"Of course, sir. Sorry to interrupt you."

"Oh, it's no problem." Spain hung up.

Romano stared at him, completely still accept for his arm. " _No problem_!?"

Spain grinned.

"Oh my fucking God, you're getting off to this, aren't you? You can't touch yourself yet, get your hands where I can fucking see them, you fucker."


	25. Storks

**Anonymous said :** Could I request Spamano with "I'm ready to begin my journey with a full-fledged erection and a heart of ambition."? Thank you! (:

* * *

"I'm ready to begin my journey with a heart of ambition."

Lovino sighed deeply, dragging his eyes away from his clipboard. "I know you've been a janitor here for like, a year…" Lovino looked him up and down, pursing his lips. "Trust me, it's not really that exciting."

Antonio grinned, hooking his thumbs into the loops of his pants. "It's not every day I get promoted by the cutest—"

Lovino coughed. "Look, all you just need to go to _this_ location and pick up the package. It's down the stairs to your left. Whatever is there, just bring it to the address. You know where the parking garage is, so go there and get a car. Text me when you leave.

"What am I, ah…" Antonio smiled. "Picking up?"

Lovino shrugged. "I don't fucking know, whatever the person ordered online. Go." Lovino handed Antonio the form. "Initial this before you give it to the guy."

Antonio saluted, grinning like an asshole. "Right, yes.

Antonio turned and left Lovino's office. Just as on the day of hire, his pants were just a little too tight. Lovino had trouble returning his attention to the clipboard until Antonio had fully left the room.

Business was as it usually was. Sales were up, packages were arriving on time—but Lovino couldn't get his mind off Antonio. And, frankly, Lovino wondered if it was nepotism that he had promoted Antonio. Surely, a drunken kiss didn't count as—

"Um, Lovino?"

Lovino started, throwing his pen across the room. "I wasn't thinking of…" Lovino blinked. "What the fuck is that?"

Antonio looked down. "Ah, the package?"

Lovino pointed. "That's a baby."

Antonio nodded. "Right, yes. I gave my slip to the guy, and he gave me this box with holes in it, but I could hear something rolling around in there, so I opened it in the hallway—"

"That's against protocol," Lovino said absently, staring at the baby.

"Oh, well, I opened it and there was this baby. What do I feed her, because there was nothing in the box besides…"

Lovino pointed again. "Besides the baby?"

Antonio held her out. "Yes."

The baby blinked at Lovino, and Lovino scooted a little farther away in his chair. The baby smiled. Lovino scooted back some more.

"Gross," Lovino whispered.

Antonio bounced the baby on his hip. "Right, so I was just wondering what I should feed her. Unless you have formula? Or, a corporate card…?" Antonio's voice raised hopefully.

" _I_ don't even have a corporate card." Lovino held his hands out. "I need to see that."

Antonio grinned. He walked over and placed the baby on Lovino's desk. Lovino lifted the baby's arm.

"Does it have a tag anywhere?"

Antonio shook his head. "No, I didn't see one."

"Was there a slip in the box? _Any_ thing?" Lovino checked the baby's diaper. "Fuck."

Antonio cooed at the baby.

Lovino glared. "Stop that. Well, I guess you're just going to have to deliver the package. I can probably go into my system and figure out why the fuck we made a baby." Lovino wiggled his mouse.

"What should we name her?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Listen, that's just a package. You wouldn't name a bowling ball, would you?" Lovino clicked through the most recent processed orders. "Right, right…"

Antonio held up the baby and rubbed their noses together. "The cutest bowling ball."

Lovino frowned, crossing his legs under him. The computer wasn't giving him anything useful. Lovino switched his attention to the baby. "I guess our factory made a baby. I… guess that's something our factory can do. Stop rubbing your damn nose against it, you're going to get it sick."

Antonio smiled, but replaced the baby on his hip. "So, where are we bringing her?"

Lovino rubbed his eyes. "Every order sent to our factory has a location attached to it. Some wingnut didn't put the information into the computer. So, we're going to have to track down the original order that was mailed to us."

"Oh, that sounds easy! Where is the original order?"

Lovino ran a hand over his face.

 **…**

Lovino threw open the doors. " _This_ godforsaken place in the archives. You're a lucky bastard that you never had to clean this crypt."

Antonio bounced the baby. The baby let out a squeal, and it echoed around the warehouse. Somehow, the shelves carried the sound further, into the dark recesses of the ceiling, into the shadows just around the edges.

"I know," Antonio said, "it's spooky in here, isn't it, Bowling Ball?"

"Stop calling it that." Lovino put his hands on his hips. "The question becomes what you would classify a 'baby' as. Something having to do with… the home?"

"What?"

Lovino waved a hand and started walking. "This place is like a library. It's organized by category, then alphabetically, and then by date."

The baby babbled, blowing a raspberry.

Lovino shot the baby a look. "Of course, we don't usually make _babies_. We're going to try home first. I cannot believe that your very first package you get as my delivery person is a fucking baby." Lovino turned down the aisle. "Right. Find the Bs."

Antonio nodded, looking around with wide eyes. "These sure are some tall shelves."

"We are a very busy company." Lovino stopped. "Look, there's the box. Grab it."

When Antonio didn't immediately obey his order, Lovino looked over. Antonio was holding out the baby. Lovino stared, took a step back.

"What?"

Antonio smiled and tilted the baby back and forth. "Well, how can I look _and_ take care of Bowling Ball?"

Lovino leaned away. "It's bonded with you."

" _She_ can bond with you too." Antonio continued to tilt the baby back and forth. "She's not a baby bird. I'll still come back for her if you get your scent on her."

Lovino curled his lips. "I don't _like_ kids. My brother is the one who likes kids."

"I'm not asking you to adopt her, silly, I'm asking you to hold her for like, three seconds." Antonio walked forward with her, pressed the baby against Lovino's chest. "Lovino, I'm going to drop the baby in three seconds. You are—"

"Alright, alright," Lovino snapped. He gingerly took the baby, holding her flush against his chest. Her nose pressed against his chin. "She's snotting on me."

Antonio grabbed the box and pulled it down. "Mhm."

The baby blew a raspberry again, and Lovino could feel the snot and spit hit his skin. "Oh my God."

The baby reached up and grabbed a fistful of Lovino's hair.

"Antonio, _Antonio_ she's grabbing my _hair_!" Lovino tried to maneuver Bowling Ball to his side, taking her fist in his own and trying to avoid a bald spot. "Antonio, you have to take her back."

Antonio sat on his ass and began to file through the manila folders.

"Antonio!"

Lovino sat next to Antonio, gently removing the hand from his hair, placing the baby on his lap. She looked at him, eyes wide and brown. Hair in soft curls. She blinked at him, opened her mouth, smiled.

Lovino looked away, looked at Antonio. "I remember when my brother was a baby. Not well, but like, enough. He cried a lot, but it didn't take much to make him laugh."

Antonio looked over. "My brother and I didn't live together. I was pretty much an only child in everything but name. I like kids. I used to want to be a kindergarten teacher, actually."

"So you became a janitor?"

Antonio laughed. "Things don't always work out. I knew I liked little kids, but I also knew I liked getting into fights."

"So?" Lovino scoffed. "My brother was a manslut in high school, but look, he's a manager at a Fortune Five Hundred company." Bowling Ball fussed, and Lovino bounced her up and down.

Antonio's hands slowed in his search. "Lovino?"

"This baby has a lot of hair." Lovino continued to bounce Bowling Ball. "You are a hairy baby. A hairy package. A hairy bowling ball."

Bowling Ball smiled.

"What if we can't find an address?"

 **…**

Lovino placed the diapers and formula on the kitchen table. "You," he said loudly, turning and pointing, "are sleeping on the couch."

Antonio rocked the baby. "Bo can't sleep on the couch."

"I didn't say she was sleeping with you." Lovino crossed his arms. "She's sleeping with me. In the bed."

Antonio grinned.

Lovino scowled. "Stop."

Antonio did not stop grinning.

Lovino hunched his shoulders. "Stop."

"You like Bowling Ball, don't you?" Antonio did a little dance. "I knew it."

"I _don't_ ," Lovino whisper-yelled. "But I can't spend another three hours in that fucking archive. I'm going to make dinner quick, sleep, and then the both of us are going right the fuck back and looking for Bo's papers."

"Bowling Ball needs a bottle."

Lovino nodded. "Fine. But this does not count as a date."

Antonio tilted his head like a confused dog. "What?"

"What?"

"Adopting a baby doesn't count as a date?" Antonio was grinning again.

Lovino turned around and walked right back into the kitchen.


	26. Destreza

**A prompt for SpaMano week on Tumblr.**

 **Day 1 : Historical**

* * *

It was one of those unbearably hot summer days. Romano could see the heat shimmer off the stones of Spain's stupid villa. It was too hot to work in the field, too hot to walk anywhere, too hot to think. Romano groaned and pressed his forehead against the window.

Romano turned and continued his walk through the house, looking around for something to do. Hell, he would even settle for Spain at this point. The guy was…

Fighting.

Romano froze, ears pricked. Was someone attacking?

Romano inched through the house, heart beating so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. It was getting hard to breathe, and where the fuck _was_ this intruder?

As he pasted another door, he froze again. Here the sound was loudest, and as fast as he dared, Romano pressed his ear against the door.

Steel on steel, swords sliding against one another. Romano's mouth felt like a desert.

Romano gently pulled on the door. Cold air hit him like a wave, and it made his thoughts a little clearer.

It was definitely Spain—Romano recognized the grunts and swears.

Slowly, slowly Romano crept down the stairs, one foot at a time. It was dark down here, and his eyes were still used to the glaring light. He was going in blind, but Spain was fighting _some_ one, and Romano wasn't just about to let the idiot die.

When Romano reached the last stair, he was lost.

He peaked his head around the corner, praying a sword wasn't about to fly towards him and chop his head off.

"Romano?" Spain's voice.

" _Are you okay_!?" Romano yelled.

"What?" Spain laughed. He came forward, face red and covered in sweat. "Were you trying to find me? Sorry, I should—"

"I thought you were getting attacked," Romano muttered, feeling very stupid. "What the fuck are you fucking even doing the fuck down here?"

Spain laughed. "I didn't mean to worry you. I was just practicing."

Romano glared at the sword. "Why are you in the wine cellar?"

Spain looked around like he just realized where he was standing. "Oh, well, it's cool down here, no?" Spain smiled. "You look cooler, already. Would you like to watch?"

Romano frowned, but walked farther in to the cellar. It _was_ cooler, and strangely comforting; the smell of alcohol, of damp earth, of lantern oil.

Romano pulled himself up a barrel of wine and spun round, feet kicking. Spain had been watching him, but as soon as he caught Romano staring back at him, he turned and marched towards his servant.

Spain whipped his sword up, swirling the tip through the air. "Shall we go again?"

The servant was looking worse for the wear, one long cut on his forehead, blood dripping into his eye. "Sir."

Spain grinned, darting forward, again and again bashing the servant's sword down, trying to lash out at his body.

Romano knew little of sword fighting—not this kind. He knew how to block and jab, but they looked like they were dancing, just out of reach of the other's sword.

They circled one another. Spain kept feigning forward, bashing up against the servant's sword, grinding the metal. Then, quickly, Spain shot forward, grabbing the servant's arm and bringing his sword up.

For a terrible second, Romano thought Spain was going to stab the servant.

"Gah," Spain spat, tossing the servant away. He glanced away, caught sight of Romano and blinked like he had forgotten he had been watching. "Would you like me to teach you?"

Romano crossed his arms. "I know how to fight."

Spain waved his hand. "No, you know how to brawl. Come, let me show you. Here, you can have my sword. It won't be as heavy as the—you can go," he said to the servant, taking the sword.

Romano hefted the sword, testing the weight. The grip felt strange in his hand, and it was still heavier than he was used to.

Spain faced him, grinning. "How does it feel?"

"Fine."

Spain raised his sword. "Show me how you would lunge."

Romano did so, stepping forward. Spain blocked it easily; it sent reverberations that made Romano's hand ache. Romano pulled back, waiting for the pain to subside.

Spain fell right back into the—Romano forgot what it was called—but his knees were bent, his sword out in front of him, hand on his hip. He made it look easy, and Romano tried to copy him.

"I'm going to lunge. Even if you can't block me, I won't hit you, okay?"

Romano gritted his teeth. "I _can_ block you."

Spain nodded. "That's the spirit!"

He stepped forward, and suddenly the sword was flying toward Romano's face. He panicked, fear making his movements wild. He batted Spain's sword up. It did not gouge out his eyeball.

Romano panted, fear making his knees shake. "Told you I could block it."

Spain nodded. "That was good. But you want to block down. Never block a sword up, because it will be that much closer to your throat and eyes and face."

Romano frowned. "I'm short. Won't blocking down just make it hit my stomach?"

Spain laughed. "Well, yes. But when you get taller. Plus, the way I'm teaching is how you would duel someone for sport. So! Always block down. Try again."

Again, the sword was flying towards Romano's face. He swung his sword down with all his might, praying he wasn't about to be stabbed in the stomach. His hand ached again.

Spain grinned. "See? Good. Now…" He started to circle to Romano's right, forcing him to move. "We'll see how you do with some movement. Now, the goal is to be as close to you as possible, without letting you stab me."

Spain had very long arms compared to Romano's. Romano's eyes flicked over Spain's body, looking for any sign of movement. Spain smiled and wiggled his sword; Romano's heart pounded against his chest.

Spain's face was in shadow now, but his eyes and his smile were bright in the gloom.

Romano didn't even _see_ the sword—just the glint of the lantern off the blade. Romano yelped and tried to bat the sword away from him, slammed his blade upwards into Spain's. His arm ached, but to his panic, the sword was coming back for him, swinging toward his head.

Romano scrambled backwards, but again, that blade.

"Spain—" Romano blocked down this time.

"Good!" Spain chirped, backing away.

Romano threw his sword down. "What the fuck?!"

The smile fell from Spain's face. "Huh?"

"What the fuck was that! You almost stabbed me! Why didn't you stop?!" Romano heard the tremble in his voice.

Spain's head jerked back in surprise. "I thought—"

Romano turned and stalked up the stairs. It was like walking into a fire, and already sweat dripped down the back of Romano's neck. He flexed his fingers and winced.

He slammed the door to his room and collapsed on to his bed, grabbed and hugged his pillow.

It didn't take long for the knock on the door.

"Romano?"

"Fuck off!" Romano yelled.

Spain opened the door anyways. "Hey, is your hand okay?"

Romano blinked. "My what?"

Spain pointed, walking over to the bed. "Here, let me see, okay?"

Romano glowered, but shoved his hand up towards Spain's face.

Spain gently took his hand and examined it. "I forgot how much fencing can hurt. I fight all the time, but you're mainly at my house, so… I'm sorry if I hurt your hand. I can wrap it, if it would make you not mad at me."

Romano kept his eyes downward, staring intently at his lap. "I guess, fucker."

"Okay, I brought the wrapping stuff with me, in case you said yes! It might hurt a little at first, but the pressure will feel better in a little bit. You might get blisters, but we only fenced a little, so maybe not."

With a practiced ease Romano wouldn't have expected, Spain weaved the gauze around Romano's hand and through his fingers. Romano watched him work, surprised it was already feeling better.

"There." Spain released his hand. "I hope you're not mad at me anymore. I don't know what I did, but I didn't mean to. We don't have to fence again, okay?"

Romano flexed his fingers. "I thought you were going to stab me. Don't fucking scare me like that again."

"Romano…"

Romano glanced up, but then he couldn't look away from Spain's face.

"Romano, I would never hurt you, not on purpose. I want you to know that forever, okay?" Spain smiled. "We're partners. I only hurt people who are assholes and do dick things, okay?"

"Okay."

Spain grinned. "I'm really sweaty."

"Fucking gross."


	27. The Semi-truck

**For SpaMano week !**

 **Day 2 : Accidents**

* * *

"Mother—" Romano slammed on the horn. "Do you _see_ this asshole! He must be fucking drunk or something, the mother fucker!"

Spain tried to bite back his grin. "What a fucker."

Romano shot a look at him. "You keep your fucking mouth shut. Don't you fucking smile at me like that. This— _look_ at him!" Romano pointed. "Did you _see_ that?! He needs a fucking breathalyzer test, let me fucking tell you!"

Spain nodded. "Of course he does."

"Mother fucking fuck." Romano checked his watch; Spain knew he had never gotten used to clocks in car dashboards. "We're going to be late for your flight. Shit. I hate when you fly out on a Monday."

Spain shrugged. "More time watching you swear, which is my favorite thing in the world."

This time, it was Romano who couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Fuck off."

Spain wiggled his fingers. "You love it."

"You have a fucked up kink for my anger, that's what you have." Romano shook his head. "Look at this guy. Would you look at—fuck." Romano slammed on his breaks.

There was a bomb.

And a lurch.

Things seemed very slow for a while. Spain's stomach felt light, and there was a strange noise that reminded him of the Margaretville blender Romano owned, that they had made drinks in Saturday night. Spain blinked, heard the heartbeat in his ears.

They were in the air. Spain saw the ground under them, the lines. There was glass. Why was there glass?

Spain's head was pressed against his chest. His teeth rattled against one another.

The world sped up, suddenly.

Everything spun, there was a crunch, his head, back and forth, back and forth, the seatbelt digging into his chest, the breath knocked out of him, something hitting him in the face, white, and Spain thought he had died again.

There was an amount of time—Spain's head was spinning. He blinked, like that would help. He tasted blood; it had been a long time since he tasted blood.

"Italy?"

Nothing.

Something in Spain screamed.

" _Italy_?!"

Adrenaline shot through Spain, and he shook his head, pain flaring across his eyes. He was upside down, the car roof brushing against his head. First was the airbag, which was easy enough to push away. Then, he reached down, bore some weight down to relieve the strain of the seatbelt.

He reached down with one hand and released the buckle.

He fell heavily, and his head buzzed, vision blurry. It took him ten breaths—he counted, trying to remain calm—to regain his sight.

Nothing felt broken, but he had fought in wars, he knew what adrenaline did. He looked around. The easiest way out…

There was a hole on the driver's side. Right through the glass.

The nausea hit Spain like a wave.

It was the best way out, and Spain dragged himself through the hole. He didn't let himself think, worked on getting through the hole, not cutting himself. Breathing.

Free, and he sat up, looked around at the world that seemed too bright. He looked around, heard beat, beating, beating.

It nearly stopped when he saw the body.

"Romano?" Spain croaked.

Nothing, painful nothing.

"Italy!" Spain felt himself scrambling over the asphalt. " _Italy_!"

Spain reached the body and felt fear crash over his body, nausea, the breath leave him again.

"Oh, God," Spain whimpered, reaching out and touching Romano lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, my poor Italy, my poor little Italy, can you hear me, Italy, baby, please. Please, talk to me, you can even curse at me, Italy."

There were lacerations across Romano's face. Spain couldn't see how bad it was, not with all the blood, all the gore. Skid marks down Romano's arms, his hands a mangled jumble of bone and flesh.

Everything was bending at the wrong angle on Romano's body.

Spain felt his breath hitching.

A wire connected, and Spain switched his attention to his surroundings. There, against the guardrail, the car, the man who had been driving it.

Spain snarled and dragged himself standing, stalking towards the man. "You fucker, you fucking mother fucker, you killed him, you made—"

"I don't speak Spanish," the man was saying.

"I'm going to _kill_ you!" Spain screamed, grabbing the man's shirt and shaking him. "I'm going to bash your head against the ground! I'm—"

Hands pulled Spain away, words spoken in Italian that made Spain want to cry. He crawled back to Romano, cradled his head in his arm, tried to pet his hair but stopped when scalp came away in his fingers, rocked him back and forth.

"Sir."

Spain blinked and looked up, vision blurry. "What?"

"Sir, I need to examine your friend." The EMT crouched down in front of Spain. "I just need to see him."

"He's not dead," Spain rasped.

The EMT's face was stony. "We can't be sure of that until I see him. Come, let my friend over there examine you."

She touched his arm, and Spain relented, let himself be led to another EMT who wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. They had him sit in the back of the ambulance, shined a light in his eyes.

"Can you tell me what the date is today?"

Spain batted away the flashlight. "You need to listen to me, he's not dead. His name is Lovino Vargas, and—"

"Sir—"

"You will _listen_ to me," Spain hissed, standing. "You will put him on a stretcher and bring him to the emergency room, and you will fix him." Spain's hands shook. "Or I'll kill you."

"Abelie," the first EMT called, "he has a pulse. He has a fucking pulse."

They grabbed a stretcher and placed Romano on it, grabbing the oxygen, yelling stats to one another, words Spain didn't know in Italian, even after all these years.

He sat in the ambulance and watched them. They placed a tube in Romano's chest, the oxygen, pads on his chest, constantly checking the pulse, shining a light, just as they had done to Spain—

"No eyeball left side."

Spain put his face in his hands.

The blood soaked through the bandages, and they worked on Romano's face, and Spain could see the full extent of the damage. The whole left side of Romano's skull seemed caved in, impossible, impossible. Spain could see Romano's cheek bone, his teeth.

"Brain swelling likely," the EMT said into a radio, "possible hemorrhaging, need to relieve pressure as soon as possible."

It was the last Spain heard of Romano for twelve hours.

 **…**

Camila knocked on Spain's door gently. "Sir?"

Spain glanced up from his paperwork. "If the boss complains again, tell him the doctors cleared me of the concussion yesterday. Fit as a fiddle, fastest recovery of a—"

"It's Lovino."

Spain stared at her.

She smiled, softly. "Line three."

Spain's hand shook as he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Holy shit, that guy was the worst driver in the world, what the fuck."

Spain let out a laugh, tears springing to his eyes. "I know, I thought I was going to kill him. I almost did, if someone hadn't stopped me." Spain closed his eyes. "God, it's so good to hear your voice. I've missed you so much."

Romano sounded like he was eating something. "Yeah, I think three months is the longest I've ever been… healing? What would you call it?"

Spain laughed, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. "I don't know. I was worried you…" Spain took a shuddering breath. "I was worried you wouldn't wake up."

There was a crackle of static over the line. "Oh, well, that's a dumb thing to worry about. Fuck, England had his head chopped off and _he_ came back. A little car crash isn't a fucking thing to me."

Spain shook his head, smiling. "I know, but… You should have seen yourself."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't let my idiot brother run this country by himself. He's a fucking idiot."

"You sound cheerful."

"Oh my God, Spain, you have _no_ idea the crazy drugs they have me on. I'm fucking, I'm _so_ high right now."

Spain laughed. "I'm going to be on the next flight over."

"Okay, cool, I fucking miss you."

 **…**

Romano was eating pudding when Spain walked in. He looked up at Spain, blinked a couple of times.

"This pudding is fucking ridiculously."

There were pink scars covering most of Romano's face, but it was healthy skin. He wore an eyepatch, and his fingers were clumsy and awkward around the spoon, arms thin. There was pudding all over his face, but none on his clothes.

His hair was almost back to its original length.

Romano frowned at him. "Stop crying."

"I'm sorry."

Spain threw his bags down and crawled into the bed with him, grabbing him and kissing him, feeling the warmth and the solid, solid skin under his fingers. Romano let out squawks, but was more focused on the pudding.

"Hey, do you know when my eye will grow back?"

Spain hugged him. "I love you so fucking much."

"Hey, I fucking love you!"


	28. Deal of a Lifetime Fixer-Upper

**SpaMano week !**

 **Day three : Unexpected laughs !**

* * *

Lovino placed the box down, coughed, and swatted his hand through the air.

"Jesus," he breathed. "They couldn't clean this place up any before we came, could they?" he called to Antonio. "This is fucking horrific."

Antonio came into the kitchen, placing his box next to Lovino's. "Well, it has been abandoned for a couple of years."

Lovino eyed the kitchen. "More than a couple. This place doesn't even have a fucking _microwave_." Lovino opened a couple of the cabinets, eyeing the layer of filth. "Let's move the furniture into the basement. It'll make it easier to figure out where everything is going."

Antonio laughed. "We might not have enough furniture for this whole place!" He grabbed Lovino by the waist and swung him around. "A big improvement from the apartment, no?"

Lovino grinned. "It's filthy."

"It's ours!"

"Uh huh. Come on, let's get a move on. I want to have at _least_ the living room looking presentable."

 **...**

It was not easy work. There wasn't much left, but there was an ancient couch that reeked of mouse droppings that was longer than Lovino was tall.

"One, two, three!" Lovino gave one final push. "Alright," he panted, "you want front or back?"

"I'll take back."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Of course. Alright, one, two, three!"

They managed to lift the couch—granted, Lovino was sure he was going to lose his grip and get crushed—and get it into the basement. Lovino let it drop with a _thud_ , and he gave his back a stretch.

"Grab the light, will you?" he called to Antonio.

There was a _click_ as Antonio pulled the string. The light flickered, yellow and old as the house, illuminating the basement. Lovino coughed and squinted through the gloom.

"Hey, did you bring a box down here?"

Antonio vaulted himself over the stair's railing. "No, why?"

Lovino pointed. "What the fuck is that?"

There was a box sitting in the middle of the room; the only thing down there.

Antonio immediately grinned at Lovino. "Spooky, no?"

Lovino shot him a glare. "Fuck off." He walked over and crouched down, Antonio at his heels. "It just looks like pictures. Huh."

There were more than Lovino would have expected. All of various families, black and white and sepia, looking stoically at the camera. Antonio pointed at the one Lovino was holding.

"Hey, that's the kitchen."

A chill ran through Lovino. "Fucking creepy. I'm going to burn them."

"Oh, shall we try out the fireplace?" Antonio said brightly.

 **…**

Lovino was mopping the foyer. Antonio had a shift at the daycare, so Lovino had the house to himself. He had risen as early as he could to start cleaning, but he hadn't really started until ten.

"Come over to my house," Lovino belted, sliding in the suds. "Jump in the neighbor's pool!"

The floor was already looking better, the wood a few shades lighter than Lovino had realized. Hopefully, if he got his ass into gear, he would finish the first floor, and tomorrow by the end of the day, upstairs would be clean—

There was a bang.

Lovino paused, straining his ears. "Antonio, I thought you were gone until four?"

Silence.

"And it felt nice." Lovino spun the mop around, nearly falling on his face, water cascading across the floor. "So nice."

Lovino threw open the door and started to push the dirty water out onto the porch. He paused, the spring air refreshing on his face. Well, he needed to get more water, anyways, and the house could use an airing out.

He opened the windows in the living room, bucket hanging in the crook of his arm. The kitchen…

There was a cabinet open. Just one, door swung all the way out. Lovino stared at it. Then, he threw the bucket in the sink, turned the sink on, and shut the cabinet.

"Please, God," he whispered, "I really don't have the patience for this."

He walked over to add soap to the bucket.

When he turned around, every cabinet was flung open.

 **…**

"Lovino?"

"What?"

"Why are there crucifixes everywhere?"

"I don't have time for bullshit."

 **…**

"Lovino?"

Someone who was about to be castrated shook Lovino's shoulder again. "I'm fucking trying to sleep, what the fuck."

Antonio shook him again. "Lovino, I got up to get a glass of water, but then the sink made me have to pee, so I went pee, and I heard someone walking around in the attic, listen."

Lovino started to dip back into sleep.

"Lovino! Listen!"

"Oh my fucking…" Lovino sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Antonio it's three in the morning!"

"Look! Do hear that?!" Antonio whisper-yelled.

"It's an old house, Antonio. We've never slept in this room before, it's probably just the house settling or fucking raccoons or some shit." Lovino yawned. "So let me fucking sleep, okay, fucker?"

"What if it's an intruder?"

Lovino rested his face in his hands. "Then I hope they kill me so I can get some God damn rest in this household."

Antonio stared at the ceiling.

Lovino sighed deeply. "Hey!" he yelled.

"Lovino—"

" _Hey_! If you're an intruder, come down here and fucking kill us already! If not, shut the _fuck_ up! Some people need to sleep, fucktrain!" Lovino collapsed back onto his pillows. "There. Go to sleep."

 **…**

Lovino knew Antonio was going to say something stupid as soon as he sat down for breakfast. He had that _look_ on his face, and Lovino drank a cup of coffee as fast as he could to steal his nerves.

"Lovino…"

Lovino sighed. "Don't—"

"Our house is haunted, Lovino." Antonio leaned forward, eyes wide and earnest. "We have to call an exorcist. Or a priest?" Antonio frowned. "Who do you call to get rid of evil spirits?"

Lovino stood when his toast popped up. "Look, I'd rather spend money on renovating the kitchen."

"But Lovino, if you renovate, you'll anger the spirits! And _then_ what will I do when you're all possessed! I saw this really messed up movie and a possessed woman bit off this guy's _dick_ , and I don't want that happening to me!"

Lovino squinted at him. "So, what you're telling me is that you'd be more concerned about me biting off your dick than me being possessed?"

Antonio started to nod, paused, then slowly shook his head. "No. Look, the important part is that I don't think we should try to piss off the ghosts."

Lovino frowned. "This is _our_ house. When the ghost starts paying the electric bill, then we can talk. Here that?" he yelled, buttering his toast. "Cough up two-hundred bucks a week and we can talk about the kitchen!"

"Lovino, don't tease the ghosts!"

 **…**

"Antonio!" Lovino yelled, wrapping a towel around his waist. "You think that shit is funny? _Antonio_!"

Antonio started, nearly kicking the cat across the room. "What?!"

"What the fuck?" Lovino snapped, shaking his head and scattering water. "You think it's funny trying to be a dick?"

Antonio stood. "Look it wasn't my fault!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I don't know, you came in here yelling at me!"

"Why are you trying to scare me?"

Antonio threw his hands into the air. "What?!"

"The mirror." Lovino pointed behind him. "While I was showering."

Antonio squinted at him.

Lovino crossed his arms. "I know you wrote that shit on the mirror."

"I was sleeping."

Lovino frowned. "You were supposed to be balancing the check book."

"The point is," Antonio said loudly, "I didn't do anything to you." Realization dawned across his face. "It was the ghosts."

"I don't—"

"Ghosts, Lovino!" Antonio crouched down, looking around the room.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What message did they write to you?" Antonio whispered. "What dark secrets did they bestow? What threat?"

"They wrote, 'you have a small dick.'"

Antonio frowned. "They were looking at your dick?"

"Small dick my ass."

"I'm not sure if I'm entirely comfortable with ghosts looking at you naked. Especially if they were looking at your dick." Antonio stood. "I don't want you showering alone."

"Excuse me?"

Antonio nodded. "Well, I'll have to get rid of the ghosts with my presence."

"I really don't think invisible ghosts care if you're in the bathroom with me or not if they want to look at my dick. Which…" Lovino looked at the ceiling. "Is a _really_ perverted thing to do, you fucking perv!"

"I guess you could wear a bathing suit…" Antonio scratched the back of his head.

 **…**

"Mother fucking…" Lovino kicked the covers off. "Fucking ghosts." Lovino threw open the bedroom door. "I swear to _God_ , if you are _actually_ breaking my dishes I will get a squirt gun filled with holy water, you _fuckers_!"

"Lovino," Antonio called, "I think that only applies to demons."

"I don't give a _fuck_ , those were a wedding gift from Grandpa!"

Lovino waited, ears pricked for any more crashing. When there was silence, Lovino dragged himself back to bed.

He was just dozing back off, just falling into the darkness, when he heard…

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

Just loud enough, just fucking loud enough to keep him away.

Lovino stared at the ceiling. "I'm getting a fucking priest."


	29. Doppelgänger

Tell me where's your hiding place...

 **...**

It was Feliciano.

Antonio stared, heart pounding in his ears. There he was, leaning against the bar, an uncharacteristic frown on his face, holding a drink. Right there, in front of him.

"Feliciano," Antonio whispered, hoarse.

The music was too loud. Feliciano hadn't heard him.

"Feliciano," Antonio said loudly, striding over, pushing people out of his way. He grabbed Feliciano's free hand, squeezing it. "Feliciano, where—"

" _Dude_!" Feliciano yelled, ripping his hand away. "What the fuck?"

Antonio's grin faltered. "Feliciano—"

"Fuck off, I'm not Feliciano." Feliciano glared at him, eyes dark, face flushed. "Yeah, are you deaf? Not him!"

Antonio stumbled away, eyes still glued to Feliciano. Because it was him, it must be. Same face, same exact fucking face.

Antonio stood against the wall, watching Feliciano.

No, it wasn't Feliciano. This Feliciano was muted in his movement, shoulders hunched, glaring into his drink. He swore at anyone who came too close. Kept his elbows close to his side. But God, just as sharply dressed, pressed lines in the jacket sharp as razors.

The nose, Antonio noticed, the same when this Feliciano turned his head, straight as an arrow, like those Romano busts Antonio sometimes saw on T.V.. Thin lips. Same height, same shape, though curved into a less exuberant curve.

No, though.

This Feliciano was thinner. He had a sharper jaw, maybe different eyes, but Antonio couldn't tell in the light.

But God, it could have been his ghost.

Antonio composed himself. He walked back across the dance floor, clearing his throat. Braced himself again for the fire.

"Hey," he greeted.

Feliciano glared. "Did you forget what I just fucking told you?"

Antonio raised both his hands and laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Excuse me, the lighting, the music…" Antonio shrugged. "So, you're not Feliciano, who are you?"

Not-Feliciano's eyes flicked up and down over Antonio. Antonio smiled, letting himself be examined. He had worn his good shirt, after all.

"Lovino."

"What?"

Not-Feliciano's mouth furrowed into a deeper frown. "My name is Lovino."

"Lovino," Antonio said, slowly. Not as satisfying at Feliciano. The V and the N blended in to one another, not as defined as Fel-i-ci-a-no. Feliciano's name sounded like hopscotch on the tongue. Lovino sounded… "I'm Antonio."

He held out his hand, and Lovino pulled away from it.

Antonio's eyebrows drew together, and he forced a laughed. "Why are you at a bar if you don't want to flirt?"

"This is my flirting," Not-Feliciano said.

Antonio laughed in earnest this time. "Ah, well, consider me flirted. Can I buy you a drink?"

Lovino was still looking at him strange. "Yeah, I suppose you can."

He ordered something expensive, and Antonio ordered something cheap and strong. Ordered two of something cheap and strong, and Not-Feliciano watched him, which Antonio did not mind in the least.

"So, Lovino," Antonio said, sounding out the word, "what do you do for work?"

Not-Feliciano shrugged. "This and that. I work for my grandfather, who does this and that. We're for-hire by anyone."

"Your grandfather?"

"Yes, my grandfather. My parents didn't want me, if you must know," Lovino muttered, taking another sip.

"Oh, I just meant it was interesting that you work for your grandfather."

"Oh."

"I'm a gardener."

Not-Feliciano looked up. "You garden?"

Antonio nodded, leaning closer. "I do. I have really nice claves, if you want to see. But yeah, I paint houses and do gardens and mow lawns and weed and stuff."

"Do you have any weird gardener stories?"

Antonio perked. That was a question Feliciano would ask, and Antonio threw himself into it, hands moving through the air, inching closer and closer.

"Oh, man, I accidentally bought a stuffed moose once. See, I guess it's illegal to kill them during certain times of the year, but this guy did it and stuffed it himself. Oh, man, the thing's a mess, and he had buried it in his yard."

A smile was crawling across Feliciano's face, and Antonio felt his heart flutter. "You dug it up?"

"I did!" Antonio laughed. "And the guy begged me not to report him, but I didn't know that it was illegal, and I thought the guy was embarrassed about his ugly moose."

That smile, that smile that made Lovino's face light up. It made Antonio want to lean forward and kiss him, hold him, call him—

"And you—what, ended up buying it?" Lovino, Lovino, that's who it was, not Feliciano asked.

Antonio's head felt light, and he reached forward and rested a hand on Lovino's knee. "Can I call you Feliciano?"

Lovino's face fell back into stone. He shoved Antonio's hands away from him, practically snarled at him.

"Fuck you."

 **…**

The fast way home was to the right.

The driver was at an intersection, and he was going to go straight and swing around. But the faster way was to turn right, even though there were more stop lights.

But there were more bars straight ahead. More bars where Antonio could look to his right and observe, look for a familiar gesture. A familiar laugh.

He got home at four in the morning and woke up two hours later to start mowing lawns.

 **…**

Another lookalike.

Antonio watched him, this new Feliciano. This Feliciano curled into a chair, gripping a drink like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was as the rate he was getting through it. The way his head bobbed, hair the same beautiful amber of Feliciano.

Antonio walked through the crowd, stepping on feet. He crouched in front of Feliciano.

Feliciano looked up at him. "Oh, fuck, not you."

"Lovino?"

Feliciano's lip curled. "Surprised you remembered my name."

So was Antonio. "What are you doing here?"

"Free country. I can come out and get shitfaced if I want to. And you? What the fuck are you doing here?" Lovino asked, eyes still flicking over Antonio.

Checking him out, Antonio realized belatedly.

"Well, I was thinking about heading home until I saw you here. I was just thinking how you look like you need another drink."

Lovino snorted. "That's—"

Antonio plucked the glass from Lovino's hands. "Be right back."

Antonio had no money—it was car payment week—and so ordered the cheapest shots, as many as he could, assuring the bartender he would get the tab.

He expected Lovino to be gone, but there he still was, still stiff, stiff, nothing like Feliciano. Lovino looked up at him, face neutral, but he looked at the drink, up at Antonio, quickly, just for a second, taking one of the shots. Downing it.

Lovino winced. "Jesus."

"Only the good stuff on a gardener's salary," Antonio said, sitting down on the table in front of Lovino. He did a shot. "Ah, yeah, that's pretty awful."

Lovino laughed—but it was Feliciano's laugh. Dear God, Feliciano's laugh rang through the music for one, clear second, and then Lovino cleared his throat. Antonio wondered how someone so grumpy could sound so happy, even if only for a second.

Antonio wanted to make him laugh again.

"Why do you come to bars if you sit alone by yourself?" Antonio asked.

Lovino held another shot in his hand, focusing on the clear liquid. "Why does anyone do anything?"

"No, I mean…" Antonio searched for the words, and when he found them, Lovino was looking at him, eyes wide, surprisingly enticing. "I mean, why do you come out if you do not have a good time? If it doesn't make you laugh?"

"Sometimes it makes me laugh."

"You weren't laughing before I came over here."

Lovino swallowed another drink, grimacing. "And why did you come over here?"

"Maybe I wanted to make you laugh!"

Lovino looked at him, eyebrows pulling together, a different kind of frown on his lips. "Why would you want to do that?" he said softly.

Antonio leaned forward and kissed him.

Lovino's breath stank like vodka, and his lips were chapped, but it was sweet, so sweet. Different than Feliciano, somehow, and something about it made Antonio push closer, and he found his hands roaming.

Lovino broke suddenly, standing, grabbing Antonio's hand and leading him through the crowd. He could barely restrain himself until Lovino led them outside, out back, and they were kissing again.

Lovino kissed his neck, went for Antonio's belt buckle—

Antonio groaned.

Lovino shot away.

The air seemed chilly without Lovino, and Antonio blinked. "What? What, why did you stop?"

Lovino was panting, and his eyes seemed glassy in the dark, the only light from some neon somewhere on the street. He had his back against the bricks, glaring at Antonio.

"You called me Feliciano."

Antonio's mind whirled. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you fucking did!" Lovino yelled. "You just fucking _did_! Just now! God, God, I knew it, I should have fucking left as soon as I saw you, because you're fucking…"

Lovino's breath was pale green in the neon. Long pauses, deep breaths.

"Fuck you, Antonio."

 **…**

"It's faster to go right."

"Yes, but go straight at this light, please."

Feliciano. Antonio mouthed the word in the dark.

 **…**

It was Lovino.

Antonio froze, dumbstruck at his own luck, because there was Lovino, talking to someone on the phone at the back of this shitty bar, past the restrooms because Antonio had gotten turned around.

"Lovino."

Lovino's whole body flinched. He slammed the phone down and whirled around.

"Lovino—"

"You can call me anything you want."

 **...**

I'm worried I'll forget your face.


	30. The Largest Sort of Dividing Line

**Anonymous said :** I wish you would write a fic where Spain and Romano are just getting to see each other again after WW2 and it's really emotional because it's been so long.

* * *

It wasn't dead, liked he had imagined it to be.

Sure, there was the abandoned, skeletal remains of vineyards, poles sticking into the air with nothing but weeds at the base. The barns with missing rooftops, shingles crunching underfoot. Burned out tanks, abandoned carts on the side of the dirt road, long since picked cleaned by scavengers.

But it was lush and green, even if it was crabgrass. The wind was cool and clear this early into summer, and each hill Antonio crested revealed even more farmland beyond.

Antonio knew he had found Lovino's farm when he stumbled upon a cow grazing. Antonio patted her hide as he passed, following her path through the grass until he found Lovino, ripping out weeds with his hands.

"Lovino?" Antonio said.

Lovino jolted away from his work, staring up at Antonio.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

Antonio blinked and looked around. "I, ah—"

Lovino stood. "No, seriously, what the _fuck_ are you doing? You think I need _this_? You think I need you?"

Antonio held up his hands in surrender. "I misunderstood."

Lovino scoffed. "I left you in the middle of the night, gave you no town to find me at, and sailed off the next morning. You couldn't pick up, oh, I don't know, any context clues? Use some common sense?"

Oh. "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_ seems like an understatement. You don't think I would have written you if I wanted to talk to you?" Lovino's face was sunburned, and he was thinner than the last time Antonio had seen him. Tired, too.

"You can't read," Antonio began.

Lovino's eyes widened and his eyes snapped to the weeds at Antonio's feet. "I could have figured it out. I'm not an idiot…" He glanced up. "I can't do this, Antonio. Not right now, not ever. Never again."

"I'm here to work!" Antonio smiled. "No, really, I am. The bar went—well, it's out of businesses, and I've heard things are going well in Italy and I—I can work, I'm not afraid to. Are you weeding? I can weed."

Antonio crouched and began to tug at the weeds, and he managed to pull out one before Lovino was squatting next to him. Lovino grabbed Antonio's wrist with rough fingers.

"You _don't_ know how to weed." Lovino tossed Antonio's hand away like it had burned him. "You're leaving the roots in; the fucking things will grow back. You're not a farmer."

Antonio's knee brushed against Lovino's. Lovino stood.

"Go to town, Antonio. Go north. There's no work here."

Antonio patted the ground. "Well, I'm on the farm, and I'd like to work on the farm, so I think that makes me a farmer."

"No, it makes you an idiot."

Antonio shrugged. "So I've been told."

"I can't pay you."

Antonio shrugged again. "I'm working for room and board."

Lovino rolled his eyes, but there, in the corner of his mouth, was a smile. "Like I have food."

"You have a cow."

Lovino ran a hand over his face and looked around his field. He wasn't wearing any gloves, and from where Antonio was sitting, he could see the scrapes and bruises, the blisters on his palms, caked in mud though they were. Lovino finally looked back at him.

"We can't kill Sofia. Alright, asshole, you can stay. But you're not sleeping in my house, and you do what I tell you when I tell you. Don't expect food, don't expect much sleep." Lovino sat next to Antonio. "You dig the dirt away from the roots, _then_ pull. Make sure you get everything or they'll grow back."

"Yes, sir." Antonio smiled. "I've missed you."

Lovino grunted. "Get to work."

 **…**

The boat was the biggest thing Antonio had ever seen. It towered over the city, a fortress of gun and metal. Every time it rolled into port, it brought the stench of gunpower with it.

Still, a customer was a customer.

Antonio balanced the sign on his lap, writing out the night's specials. _Cigarettes_ with an S, _beer_ in English, he knew it was close enough to the Italian, _gin_ in Spanish, even though the word was shorter in Italian.

A man walked over, still in uniform. "You speak Italian? You sell cigarettes?" he asked haltingly in Spanish.

Antonio looked up and smiled. "I speak enough Italian." He pulled out his own pack and offered one. "Here."

The sailor grabbed one without hesitation, lighting it up immediately. "Where'd you learn Italian?"

Antonio shrugged. "Around. It's useful to get people to come. There are a lot of common words."

The Italian nodded. "Where'd you learn to write?"

"My father. He wanted me to be educated." At the Italian's confusion: "Wanted me to go to school. But I pick it up from here or there. I know some Yiddish, too."

"What's Yiddish?"

Antonio casually wrote the prices on the board. "The Jews speak it."

The Italian nodded. "Do you own the bar?"

"I won half of it gambling." Antonio rested his chin in his hand. "Lots of questions. You're not a spy, are you?"

"A what?"

"I don't know the word in Italian. The secret police?"

The Italian laughed. "No, I'm a sailor. I won't arrest you. I just wanted a cigarette."

Antonio smiled. "You have a nice laugh." The Italian's face immediately grew stormy. "You should come by and have a drink tonight. It'll be busy, but I can talk. I'm Antonio."

"Lovino."

Lovino held his hand out, and Antonio shook it. The Italian's hand was sweaty, and Antonio saw his fingers tremble when he took his hand back.

"Will I see you tonight?"

Lovino shrugged. "No."

 **…**

Antonio was perched precariously on the roof of the barn, hammering back all the shingles he had found scattered around. Lovino had told him to use two per shingle, but there was a storm brewing overhead, and Antonio was pretty sure he was going to be hammering them back into place tomorrow.

Antonio sat up and stretched his shoulders. It was darker than Antonio had realized—later than he had realized. Where was Lovino?

He looked around, seeing over the tops of the overgrown olive trees he was usually submerged in. There, on the dirt road, three figures and a cow. Antonio hoped for good news, but why would Lovino bring them back to the farm?

Antonio swung his legs off the roof and lowered himself off, hanging on by the tips of his fingers, and then landed neatly. He brought the hammer, jogging in the direction of the figures. The olive trees rustled in the breeze, and Antonio heard the soft _pat_ s of raindrops on the leaves, the smell of rain.

Antonio slowed when he heard voices.

"Fuck off," Lovino snapped.

"Give us the cow, Vargas."

"Look, I'll get you the money in two months at the latest. Once she gets pregnant again, I can milk her and sell it, or just give you the milk, but—"

There was a sound of scuffling. Someone fell; Antonio heard the impact of him on the ground, the sharp exhale of breath. Sofia mooed.

Antonio burst out of the tree line, took in Lovino on the ground, and ran at the nearest man. The man held up a hand, but Antonio struck low on the thigh. The man crumpled to the ground, muscles cramping at the sudden impact.

"Jesus Christ!" the other man jerked away. "Who the hell are you?"

Antonio smiled. "I'm Antonio."

Lovino scrambled to his knees and held his hands up. "Antonio, sweet Mother put the hammer _down_!" Blood dripped from his nose onto his shirt.

Antonio lowered the hammer.

The second man was helping the first up. "You have two months, Vargas!" he yelled over his shoulder, hauling his friend down the road.

Antonio watched them until they disappeared from view around a bend in the road. Just like that, it was done. Obviously not ones for a fair fight. Most bullies weren't.

Lovino stayed on the ground, face in his hands. "My God," he breathed, "I need someone to knock up my cow."

Antonio crouched next to him. "Are you alright?" He took Lovino's hands away from his nose, trying to assess the damage.

Lovino shoved Antonio's hands away. "I'm fine. I didn't—I didn't think they were going to punch me. Caught me off guard, is all." He wiped away some blood and looked at his hand. "Jesus." His voice shook.

"Who were they?" Antonio stood and offered his hand.

Lovino took it and Antonio helped him up. "No one. Well, they… They own the fucking farm. It's my grandfather's but they…" Lovino sighed. "Claimed it was theirs and I had to buy it back from them. Or, well."

Antonio looked down the road after the men. "Are they from here?"

"No," Lovino spat. "The north."

"I could tell from their accent." Antonio fetched Sofia's rope. "We could kill them."

" _No_." Lovino cleared his throat. "No, that's… No. No point. It'd just cause us more trouble down the road. Or, well, _me_. I'm the one who…" He blew air through his lips.

They walked slowly back to the house, Sofia occasionally shaking her head to clear the raindrops from her ears. Lovino tilted his head up for the rain to wash away the blood.

"I only used two nails," Antonio said.

Lovino looked over at him. "What?"

"For the shingles." Antonio pointed at the barn. "Like you said. We still ran out, but it'll keep out the rain well enough."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, thank you." Lovino sucked in air through his teeth. "You… You don't have to sleep in the barn. Anymore."

Antonio grinned.

"At least until it stops raining," Lovino added quickly.

"Of course."

 **…**

Antonio was too drunk to see the clock. Tell what time it was. Both. He poured another shot for Lovino, one for himself.

"What's a farm like?" he slurred.

Lovino grinned. "A _what_?"

"You know. The… plants."

Lovino laughed. "Hot. Hard work." He said something in Italian Antonio didn't know. "Cows."

"Saw _cows_ again."

"Cows."

Antonio closed his eyes. "What a glorious word. Beautiful. No one speaks Italian like the Italians."

"I'll say. I'm so sick of hearing you Spaniards fuck it up." Lovino leaned forward, eyes unfocused. "Though, I guess yours isn't _terrible_. Not the _worst_ I've heard."

"I could teach you Spanish, you know." Antonio took another sip of his drink, grimacing. "It's practically the same, except for the big words. And small words."

Lovino snorted when he laughed. "Not the same."

The bar was practically empty this late. A few patrons were passed out. A few drunkenly gambling, speaking in different languages. The candles burned low. Lovino's eyes were the brightest things in the gloom.

Antonio shifted, his fingers brushing against Lovino's, casually. Ever so casually. Lovino glanced down, eyebrow raised.

"Come back tomorrow," Antonio whispered, leaning closer. "I'll teach you some Spanish."

 **…**

Antonio's eyes opened to the dark. He blinked a couple of times, trying to figure what time it was. He rolled to his left to ask Lovino if he was up.

There was a gentle sob.

"Lovino?"

The sound immediately stopped.

"Lovino, are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Much to Lovino's credit, his voice was steady. "Go back to sleep. You have another few hours to sleep."

Antonio sat up. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

" _Nothing_. Just, stupid—fucking—just _nothing_ , okay? I just…" There was a sharp intake of breath, hitching.

Antonio stood, slowly, and shuffled over to Lovino's bed. He sat down slowly. Lovino was silent from the other end of the bed.

"They used to pick them off in the water," Lovino whimpered. "If we sank a boat. They would… they'd swim and yell up at us. We used to shoot at them." His voice became muffled. "I'm going to hell."

"No, Lovino—"

"I _am_! I'm already in hell! I'm in debt to—to—even my fucking _brother_ left! My only family left in the entire _world_ left me! The war haunts me everywhere I _go_! Even in my head! Especially in my fucking head!" He coughed while he sobbed. "And _you_! Every time I look at you I—I'm going to hell!"

Antonio lunged forward and pulled Lovino into a hug. Lovino stiffened in his arms, started to pull away, and then gave in, pushing his face into the crook of Antonio's neck. Lovino smelled like old sweat and hay. His hands on Antonio felt rough.

"You could see their blood in the water," Lovino said into Antonio's neck. "Bodies float when they're dead. I see them."

 **…**

Lovino was drunk with Antonio in the back room. It was noon. Lovino didn't seem like he had any mind to stop drinking any time soon.

Antonio watched him, sitting opposite in the ground. Lovino had taken off the top of his uniform and had it wrapped around his waist. Bottles surrounded him like a shrine. His face was sunburned, and he swayed whenever he stood to get another drink—his sea legs.

"Lovino," Antonio said. "Why are you here?"

Lovino looked at him, eyes unfocused. "We're not supposed to. Spain is neutral."

"I mean…" Antonio searched for the words. "Why are you in the military?"

"Oh." Lovino took a sip. "I was drafted."

"Why didn't you run away?"

Lovino looked away and shrugged. "I don't know. I was afraid. They… There was this other boy. In my village. He tried to run for the Resistance. They shot him in the square." Lovino stared at the bottle in his hand.

Antonio crawled across the floor to sit next to Lovino. Their arms pressed against one another, their sides. Antonio could hear his heartbeat in his ears, watched Lovino's profile, the blush creeping up his neck.

"My brother," Lovino said, "he was so mad. But only because my grandfather was. He didn't understand everything, I don't think. After all, what could _I_ do? I can't fight off all of Italy because… Well, just because."

"What was your brother's name?"

"Feliciano." Lovino's mouth softened from its hard line. "I miss him. He ran away after I was drafted. I haven't heard from him since."

"Did…" Antonio looked at the door, unsure of who was listening.

"Maybe." Lovino shrugged one shoulder.

Antonio rested his hand on Lovino's wrist. Their legs touched. "My father is a tradesman. He traded to the Axis, so I left my house and came here. I like it, I like the coast. I like the people."

Lovino looked at him. "Do you like me?"

* * *

 **Some historical stuff:**

 **Italy's Navy was one of its most successful military branches in WWII.**

 **Spain originally tried to join the Axis Powers, but was denied. It became neutral when the Allies began to turn the tide of the war. However, it traded regularly with the Axis, and maintained normal trading with the Allies.**

 **It's not inconceivable that Spain would allow an Italian warship to dock in its waters, especially early in the war. At least, that's what I'm saying for this story lol.**

 **After the war, Italy actually had one of the fastest growing economies in Europe… if you lived in the northern part of the country. There was a mass migration of people from the rural, southern areas to the cities.**

 **If you continued to try and farm the land, good luck competing against the huge, aristocratic farms. Most small farms were no longer self-sufficient, and debt plagued the venture. Most farmers became laborers for larger farms.**


	31. Sordid

**Anonymous said :** Prompt: graceful

 **A "Pride and** **Prejudice" -y AU. There is more to this. Early 1800s.**

* * *

"They wouldn't happen to have music like this in your home state, would they?" Antonio asked, clapping along to the violin.

"No, my home state is much more committed to vying over the Papacy than doing anything as fun as a ball," Lovino laughed into Antonio's ear. "All our balls have political tension and intrigue, and not nearly enough dancing!"

The dresses swirled on the marble floor in front of them. Mauve was in vogue, and while Lovino didn't find it a very flattering color, he had to admit that the English had an astonishing talent to make drab things look moderately tasteful in between the oaken support beams of the hall.

Meanwhile, Lovino's collar was far too tight, and Antonio had stolen his top hat quite maliciously. It clashed horrifically with the Spaniard's pink petticoat, but Lovino had drank too much wine, and was finding it rather charming.

The dance finished, and the dancers clapped up to the band on the balcony overhead, and the line dispersed. New partners formed, and Lovino glanced over at Antonio.

"It's a wonder you don't choose a poor, besotted girl to dance with." Lovino casually surveyed the room, but no one caught his eye. "I'm sure every woman in here is dying to speak with a foreigner."

Antonio smiled and leaned close to Lovino's ear. "I could ask the same of yourself. The charming Italian gentleman, with rumors he was being considered for the Papacy himself, before a sordid affair disgraced him and he removed himself to England; who wouldn't love to have your attention?"

Lovino felt a drunken smile flash across his face. " _Me_? The _Pope_? And it seems you and you alone have garnered my attention this evening."

Antonio tilted his head. "And how I enjoy your attention, Lovino." He turned away, and Lovino was surprised to realize how close they had been standing to one another. "And where," Antonio said loudly, "is my darling sister? We _must_ get her on the dancefloor!"

Emma appeared, face flushed, hair cropped short around her ears. "Lovino!" she chirped. "I had no idea you were here!"

"My darling Emma!" Lovino grabbed her around the waist and spun her around in a circle. "As always, a picture of elegance and sophistication in the dreary mundane that plague these private balls."

Emma laughed and squirmed. "I had no idea everyone was going to be wearing pink—"

"And how splendid you are for ignoring this fact!"

"And there was _such_ a mishap with the scissors—"

"And yet it only makes you the loveliest woman in here." Lovino released her. "I fear our Antonio may be trying to have us dance together."

Antonio pressed another cup of wine into Lovino's hand. "And what a sore friend and brother I would be if I didn't insist the two best dancers in this entire mansion dignify us with a small galivant around the room."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "He's only asking because he has gotten me drunk."

Emma clapped her hands together. "Oh but Lovino! You are such a marvelous dancer!"

"Well if you two are going to _insist_ —"

Antonio put his arm around Lovino's shoulder. "We do insist."

Emma stepped on his toe on the first note. She stepped on his other toe when they faced each other once again, and didn't turn back toward the women's side of the room until three beats after the rest of her line. Her chest bumped into his when she tripped over the hem of her dress.

"This is my favorite song!" she attempted to whisper to him. "This next part—" She grinned and tilted her head back and forth to the rhythm, forgetting to walk around another woman.

Antonio joined them on the next dance with a woman he had plucked from the crowd.

"You know, Lovino," Antonio said as he circled around him, "you really are one of the best dancer in this entire hall."

Lovino resisted the urge to spin and follow Antonio's path around him. "I wish I could compliment you similarly."

Antonio laughed. Lovino's stomach flipped.

"Perhaps you should teach me then, Lovino!"

Lovino and Emma came together again, fingertips pressed against one another. Lovino couldn't remember when he had learned to dance like the English; it was like learning a new language, something he had picked up along the way in bits and pieces. How Antonio had not figured out the turns and—

Antonio treaded on the back of Lovino's heels.

 **…**

The pond steamed in the cold air. The sky overhead swirled with the promise of rain. The trees seemed almost black against the clouds, despite being thickly leaved with green.

Lovino aimed halfheartedly at the geese overhead from underneath the tree line. He was cold and damp down to the soles of his feet, and Antonio had already outgunned him. Finally, he fired, but the birds flew on. Antonio fired next to him, then slung the gun over his shoulder.

"Good shot," Antonio tried, trotting towards his prize.

"Hardly. Does your dog do anything other than slobber over my boots, or was he once a hunting dog?" Lovino's teeth chattered.

"Oh, he's Emma's dog. I thought he'd like the exercise."

"It's a dog."

Antonio shrugged. "So, I'm guessing your royal schooling didn't include shooting practice?"

"My family didn't own acre upon acre of land to prance around in after ducks." Lovino clicked his tongue. "Or, well, we did, but I was never one for prancing around in our estate. My grandfather was the outdoorsman, while my brother and I were the meager scholars of things like utensils and proper etiquette."

"And now you're in England."

Lovino laughed. "Where proper etiquette is marching around in a bog all dreary day, yes."

Antonio walked backwards to face Lovino, gun balanced over his shoulders. His undershirt clung to him in the damp, though it was his fault for refusing to wear a petticoat. "Surely, it's not all bad? After all, you did agree to come with me to this mire, while I'm sure Emma would have appreciated your company with our beloved father instead."

"All your beloved father wishes to speak of is marriage to our darling Emma, which is a conversation I've had far too many times in both Italian and English. Perhaps I _should_ have become a priest."

Antonio faced forward. His steps were loud to Lovino, who hadn't expected this to be a sore topic.

"Why _don't_ you marry Emma, Lovino? You two get along well enough—" He shook his head, licked his lips like he was trying to rid them of a foul taste.

"She's your sister—"

"Step-sister, and only so out of benevolence from my step-father so that she should could have prospects."

Lovino stopped walking. Antonio kept on for a few paces before realizing Lovino was no longer with him, and then turned around. Lovino crossed his arms. The gun was awkward in his hand, pressed against his upper arm.

"And do you _want_ me to marry your step-sister, Antonio?"

"No I—"

"Well then stop talking about it!"

Antonio rushed forward towards Lovino, throwing his gun to the side, breath streaming in the cold air. Lovino started to take a step back, but Antonio grabbed his shoulders and… and just held him there.

They stood there, staring at one another, the gun still in Lovino's hands, and oh, how he wished he could put it down, Antonio's hands on his shoulders.

"I…" Antonio started, words a rasp. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still dark and quiet. "I don't ask you if you're going to marry her to insinuate something about the two of us, I ask you for _Emma's_ benefit, because she thinks you're going to propose to her, and I cannot… I cannot talk to her in good faith if _I_ am the reason you continue to disappoint her."

The metal in Lovino's hands was cold.

"Am I, Lovino?"

A raindrop dripped down the back of Lovino's collar.

Antonio shook him slightly. "Lovino?"

"What do you wish me to say that does not go against our—our religion and our families and our society?"

Antonio gripped him tighter. "The truth."

The gun slid from Lovino's hands to his feet. "I think of Emma as if she were my own sister."

"And what of _me_ , Lovino? Am I a brother to you?" He clung to Lovino. "If what you feel towards me is familial, I beg of you to tell me, and the matter shall never be brought up again. But I beseech you, _tell_ _me_ so that I can look Emma in the eye and not feel as though I were cheating her of you."

Lovino's hands were useless at his sides.

" _Lovino_."

Lovino crashed forward, pressing himself against Antonio's chest, forcing their lips together. Antonio wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer, closer, kissing back fervently.

Lovino had kissed women before, had even touched them. And kissing Antonio was no different physically, besides the stubble of his beard, and yet it lit Lovino on fire, gave him a feeling of urgency, of _want_ and _need_ that Lovino had never felt before, to touch, to be closer, made his stomach ache and knees weak.

What did one do with another man?

Lovino shoved Antonio away, hard; the air scalded his lungs like fire as soon as Antonio wasn't sharing it.

"Lovino—"

"We're going to catch our death if we stay out in this weather. Grab the guns."


	32. Tar and Feathers

**This is a Secret Santa gift for** schnano **on Tumblr !**

 **They asked for bakery AU w/ pining.**

 **I ended up writing a "Stranger Than Fiction" AU! I really** **recommend** **the movie. ^^ Basically I just subbed in Antonio and Lovino for the main character and baker, and let things play out.**

* * *

"What sort of government _bullshit_ —" Lovino threw the cupcake tin into the oven and slammed the door shut. "Allows _you_ to fucking waltz in here and demand shit?"

Antonio gripped the briefcase tightly in his hand. "I'm auditing you."

Lovino laughed, using the back of his hand to wipe away sweat; his fingers were covered in flour. "Oh, okay, so you're a fucking _IRS agent_."

The patrons let out a hiss.

"Yes, Mr. Vargas," Antonio said over the noise. "You didn't pay all your taxes."

"I didn't pay." Lovino grabbed a frozen lump of dough out of his freezer. He tossed it down on a floured surface and grabbed a rolling pin. "All of my fucking _taxes_. That's funny, I sure as hell remember writing the fucking _check_."

Antonio nodded. "You only paid around half the—"

"Are you sure you counted right?" Lovino raised an eyebrow. The dough was flat underneath him, and he turned back around to his kitchen.

"Well, they were reasonably sure enough to pay to send me out here. So, we're pretty sure." Antonio gestured around him. "Is there an office where we can—"

"Get out of here, taxman!" someone yelled from behind Antonio.

The storefront rotated customers in and out. There were tables and chairs scattered around, warm yellow paint on the walls, couches shoved near the far window. Free Wifi.

Lovino crossed his arms, a lemon in one hand, and looked at Antonio. "I don't want to pay the rest of those taxes. So you can fuck off."

Antonio resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The smile dug into the sides of his cheeks. "You're stealing from the government. You're going to get arrested if you don't allow me to audit you."

"Arrested." Lovino scoffed, head lolling with the action, snapping back up to look at Antonio. "Why didn't that sick _fuck_ state representative get arrested, hm? Who paid for his lawyers to defend him? What about the poor fucks whose heads got blown off by accident via drone?"

Antonio blinked. "You run a bakery—"

"And I pay taxes towards shit I don't agree with." Lovino turned back towards his cookies. "Use the taxes I _did_ give you to build a playground. Use it to fix that pothole over on Main Street."

"Look, I'm not exactly pleased to have to look over three years of your receipts to make sure you didn't steal anything else." Antonio removed his nails from the leather of his suitcase handle. "So let's make this as painless as possible, alright?"

Lovino didn't even bother replying.

 **…**

Gilbert lounged on Antonio's couch, flipping through legal documents. "Sounds like an asshole."

Antonio ran his hands through his hair. He hit the couch and turned back around, hit the wall and spun on his heel, back and forth, back and forth. "You have no idea. And the _mouth_ on him."

Gilbert flipped a page leisurely. "Could be worse. Could be some hippy in the woods."

Antonio threw his hands in the air. "He's a hippy in a _bakery_!" He lowered his arms and took a deep breath. "You should have seen the bakery; pots and pans everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what his backroom looks like."

"Well, we all can't have a _me_ cleaning up after them." Gilbert glanced up. "How were the cookies?"

"I didn't try one." Antonio collapsed on the couch.

Gilbert's eyes snapped back to focus on him. "You're auditing a baker and you didn't even try his cookies?"

Antonio sprang out of the couch. "I _would_ have if I thought he wasn't going to _poison_ me!" Antonio stopped in front of the wall. "Besides, I think that's not allowed. Right? It could be considered _bribery_."

Gilbert scratched something down on his legal pad. "Only if you didn't pay for it. And you were actually bribed into doing something."

The wall was faded where there had once hung a painting. Antonio considered. "Do you think I'm bribe-able?"

"I think you're an idiot."

 **…**

Antonio glanced up for what must have been the thirtieth time. "Most of these receipts are from three and a half years ago. I'm just looking for three years or—"

"Shut up, taxman." Lovino didn't glance up from his kneading. "Finish that box first."

Antonio sighed and reached into the box beside him, pulling out a fistful of receipts. He pieced through them, carefully trying to create a timeline, figure out expenses, debits, credits.

Lovino's head lifted at the front door opening. "Welcome, you fuck." He moved around the table, rubbing his hands on his apron. "I thought you'd drowned."

Lovino chatted amicably with what appeared to be a homeless man. Antonio rested his chin in one hand, watching the exchange, a finger tapping the 'clear' button on his calculator. After a few minutes, Lovino went behind the counter and made a little box of cookies and pastries for the man.

 _Focus_.

Antonio's eyes snapped back to his work. He fished out a bill and read it over; the mortgage on the bakery. Well, Lovino paid _that_ on time, apparently.

Fire in the kitchen.

Antonio's eyes snapped up, only to see Lovino making crème brûlée. He leaned almost casually against the counter, using only one hand to melt the sugar. A timer dinged behind him, but he didn't seem too concerned.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Lovino glanced up.

"I am," Antonio said loudly. "I thought the kitchen was on fire."

"Do I really seem like the type of idiot who would let his kitchen catch on fire?" Lovino flipped the flame off. He grabbed one of the small, white dishes and brought it over to Antonio. "Do you want to try one?"

Antonio held up his hands and scooted his chair away. "Ah, actually, that's considered bribing."

Lovino took a step back. "Oh." His eyes darted away from Antonio. "Fine. Sorry for _bribing_ you. God knows I wouldn't want the IRS investigating me—oh wait! They already fucking _are_."

He turned and stormed back into the kitchen, throwing the dessert in the sink. Antonio heard the dish shatter.

 **…**

Antonio sipped on his wine, watching Gilbert work absently. A tome sat open on the couch next to him, and Gilbert was studying it intently.

Antonio blinked. "What did you say?"

"I asked what you were thinking about." Gilbert didn't look up from his book.

"The baker. He tried to give me crème brûlée today."

Gilbert turned his attention to Antonio. "And you didn't accept, right?"

"No."

Gilbert grunted. "Good."

 **…**

"Fucking here." Lovino stomped up the stairs, turned, and bowed. "The whole lot of it. Every bill that's ever _touched_ my fingers. Figure it out, taxman."

Antonio thought the first box was bad. There were stacks of milkcrates, filled with bills, receipts, statements. Antonio scratched the back of his neck, looking around. Lovino was already descending the stairs.

"Wait." Antonio looked around him again. "Wait, what's the system here?"

Lovino didn't stop. "Figure it out."

 **…**

"Lovino—"

"Do you see me baking? Do you see me doing my fucking job? Why don't you do _yours_?"

 **…**

Antonio's eyes burned. His fingers were riddled with papercuts. Numbers kept jumping into his head—had he fucked up last year's refinancing?

Antonio rubbed his eyes as he walked down the stairs. He was surprised to see it was so dark out. Had he really spent twelve hours in Lovino's attic? The store was closed, all the chairs on the tables. Lights dim.

"Rough day?"

Antonio started and whipped around to face the kitchen.

Lovino smirked, waved a spatula. "Boo."

Antonio sighed. "I thought I was going to be locked in here."

"Locked in here? What, like I forgot about you?" Lovino used the spatula to remove some cookies from a pan. "How are the taxes going?" He placed the cookies on a plate.

"Okay. All the numbers are working out, so that's good. Good for you, for me. Hopefully I can be out of your hair in a week or two."

Lovino hummed. "You must be hungry. You've been up there all day." He opened the fridge and grabbed a glass of milk.

"I was just going—"

"Do you want a cookie?" Lovino walked around from behind the counter, holding the plate of cookies and the milk.

"Lovino, I really can't—"

Lovino heaved a sigh. "Oh my God, you're the worst, did you know that? I'm not going to tell, and you just told me all the numbers are fine, so what am I even bribing you _for_? Hm?" Lovino nodded with his head. "Sit."

Antonio turned around. There was one table with its chairs still down. Antonio glanced over his shoulder and slowly sat.

Lovino put the cookies and milk on the table. "Eat."

"Mr. Vargas—"

"And we're back to last names, are we?" Lovino rolled his eyes. "Look, you've had a shitty day, right? You've been up there all day, counting shit that I'm too lazy to count. You're tired, and I was a grouch."

Steam rose from the cookies.

Lovino leaned closer, putting his hands on the table. "Eat a fucking cookie."

Gilbert didn't need to know about one cookie.

Antonio dipped a cookie in milk and took a bite. His eyes fluttered shut. "That's… a good cookie."

Lovino sat down across from him. "I put cinnamon in it and a bit of extra salt. Eat another one, they'll make you feel better."

Antonio did so. "God, where did you learn to bake like this?"

Lovino shrugged one shoulder. "My grandfather."

"He was a baker, too?"

Lovino let out a short laugh. "Fuck, no. He… He worked for the military. He was this decorated war hero, you know how it is." Lovino hoisted one leg up onto the chair and rested his chin on his knee. "When he'd visit from overseas, he'd bake with me and my brother."

Antonio tilted his head. "You have a brother?"

"Feliciano; he's a shit. My grandpa liked him better, but he tried." Lovino rubbed his cheek into his knee. "He wanted me to go into the military, too. He used to talk about it all the time. 'Just wait until you see the bases they have, Lovino.'"

"But you're a baker."

Lovino's eyes flicked to Antonio. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Soon as I graduated high school, I applied for the loan for my first place."

Antonio scooted closer. "Why didn't you join?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to. I didn't think I can kill another person. I don't. And… I don't know." Lovino picked up his own cookie and took a bite. "I was an angry kid. The only time I felt happy when was I baked. I didn't think I needed to kill someone else to… I don't know."

Antonio offered his milk. Lovino took a sip.

"Mm, but what about you?" Lovino said.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't exactly strike me as the taxman."

Antonio laughed. "I wasn't. I was a stock broker."

Lovino sat up straight. "You're fucking with me."

Antonio held his hands up, grinning. "It's true. I was good, too, I think."

Lovino scoffed; it almost sounded like a laugh. "Are you serious? What happened?"

"Eh." Antonio scratched the back of his neck. "I fucked up. I wasn't so much a stock broker as a consultant. I used to tip off some people about how the companies I was helping—how they looked."

"No shit."

"The only reason I'm not in jail is that my friend is a lawyer. A really good lawyer. He managed to make a deal. I don't really _get_ the deal, but the IRS took me. It's… confusing." Antonio waved his hand. "But now I'm here."

Lovino smiled. "Interesting."

 **…**

Gilbert slammed his book shut. "Because you _can't_ , Antonio!"

Antonio let out a frustrated groan. "Why _not_?! His books check out! Nothing beside these most recent—"

"Because Antonio, you _fucked up_! Do you even know how lucky you are not to be in fucking jail right now? Do you think the government gives a _shit_ about the baker's god damn _books_? They need to think you're not a fucking _criminal_!"

"I'm _not_ ," Antonio spat. "So I can't date him because they think—what? I'm _lying_ about counting his receipts?"

Gilbert stood and marched in front of Antonio, their noses nearly touching. "Yes, you fuckhead!"

"And if I do?" Antonio hissed.

"Then you'll go to fucking jail for the rest of your life." Gilbert gritted his teeth. "And you'll be an even bigger idiot than the rest of the world already thinks you are."

 **…**

Antonio's eyes snapped open. It couldn't be any later than three in the morning.

All he could taste was cinnamon.


End file.
